


What We Become

by scottmcniceass



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Teen Wolf AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 78,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nervous?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay if you are,” Harry says seriously. “I mean, I know I would be. Like, if there was ever a date that was destined to go bad, it’s probably this one. Werewolf goes on date with the son of a werewolf hunter, who’s also training to be a werewolf hunter when he’s older, while another pack of werewolves are practically massacring the town, and no one has no idea how to stop them. It's not a question of what could go wrong. It's a question of what could possibly go right, and I'm willing to bet the answer to that is nothing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so this is longer than it's supposed to be (ha. this is just the norm now, isn't it?) but i'm also really unsure of how i feel about it. Like, I don't hate it, but I just don't think it's what a lot of people were expecting, so there will probably be some disappointment.
> 
> oh, and WARNINGS: MINOR character death (none of the boys, do not worry. all OCs), sexy times. some blood and gore description at times.
> 
> (also I would totally suggest listening to Dance On Our Graves by Paper Route because I listened to it a lot while writing this :P)

 

**Zayn**

There's a part of him that realizes he's probably sort of twisted. That somewhere in his upbringing, he was misguided. That there is something wrong about enjoying the way his bow feels in his hands, the light strength of it. That watching an arrow lodge itself in the calf muscle of another person — if you can even call  _it_  a person— without wincing, maybe even  _enjoying_  it, is bad. And yet…

He doesn't really listen to that part of him very often.

Turning, he can faintly see his father a few feet to his left, a pistol poised in his hand, loaded, cocked, safety off. He gestures with two fingers, pointing them to the right. Nodding, Zayn moves forward in the direction he was told, stealthily moving through the woods in a way that only a skilled professional can manage, his boot covered feet barely making a sound.

It isn't until he hears his dad crack a stick under his feet that he realizes the mistake they've made. They've been moving steadily in one direction, not bothering to check their backs because why would they? But they should have. They should have, and they  _didn't_ , and he hears a muffled sound as his father goes down behind him.

He whirls, heart hammering in his chest, and lifts his bow. The  _thing_  is on his dad, paws on his chest, and the  _sounds_. The sounds have his blood running cold. His grip on the bow is now sweaty and slipping, and the thing is leaning in, ready to take the kill, and he's  _frozen_. His dad is shouting, the thing is growling, and Zayn can't see it's eyes from this angle, but he guesses they're probably a horrifying blood red.

And then that red is scattering the front of his shirt, his face, warm and wet. The sound of the gun going off registers a second later, and then his dad is pushing the dead thing off him. The body moves with difficulty, but he gets it off and then stands up.

"What the hell was that?" his dad demands.

"I—," the words stick in his throat. He can't breathe, can't lift a hand to rub away the lifeblood of the animal off his face.

His father shakes his head in disappointment, but his expression softens a bit. "I know," he says. "That's the whole point of this. We're training. I didn't take the kill shot my first time, either, but it gets easier. Once you stop thinking about them as people and start taking them for the beasts they are, it gets easier."

Zayn nods because there's nothing else to do. "I'm sorry."

A hand claps his shoulder, a bit too hard, but he welcomes the pain as his punishment; he just nearly got his father killed because he'd hesitated. There is no time for hesitation in this life. Hesitation means death.

"You'll get 'em next time," his dad assures him. "I know you can, son. You're a natural born hunter. You just need to get your sea legs, that's all."

"Okay," he says.

"Okay," his dad repeats. "Now let's get the body in the car so we can get you home and washed up."

He spends the whole drive home staring out the window. His face feels tight, the blood drying on his skin. He can only imagine the way he looks right now, but every time he looks in the mirror all he sees is wide eyes. And terror, marring his features more than the gruesome blood. Not of the thing that nearly killed his dad, either. He's been taught this his whole life; he stopped being scared of them around the same time he stopped sleeping with a nightlight. No, he's afraid of himself, of the fact that he could seriously get someone he cares about hurt if he doesn't learn to school the shaking in his hands, the thundering in his heart, his inability to do what needs to be done.

When he gets home, his mum is waiting in the doorway. He goes to get out of the car to take the hug that her arms are extended to give, but his father doesn't move.

"I have something to talk to you about," he says, and the locks on Zayn's door suddenly click shut.

"What?" he asks warily. Are they going to stop his training? Have they decided that he's just not cut out for this? Is he really that much of a disappointment?

"We're moving," is what his father says instead.

Zayn blinks in surprise. "What?" he asks again.

"We're moving." His father winces as he says the words, looking apologetic. "I know we just got here, but — we'll have the problem here dealt with by the end of the week, and I got a call from a friend of mine a few hours away. They've been having problems. Too many attacks to be coincidental. No one's been turned, that we know of, but there's been deaths."

He swallows, nods, reaches for the door handle. The door stays locked.

"Are you okay with this?" his father asks. "I know you guys hate moving so often. I know it's not easy, and I just wanted to make sure that you're on board with this."

He forces himself not to snort at that because, really. It's not like he'd have a choice even if he said he didn't want to. "Yeah, I'm fine with it. Sick of this school, anyways."

This time the clap on his shoulder is a kinder one, the touch lingering just a moment, fingers squeezing gently. "Okay," his dad says. "Just checking."

They get out of the car then, and he makes his way to his mum, who wraps him in her arms before pressing a kiss to his forehead, the only spot on his whole face that isn't coated in someone — some _thing—_ else's blood.

"Go take a shower," she orders when she pulls back.

He nods mutely and climbs the stairs, but he pauses at the top to listen.

"How'd he do?" she asks. "You know I don't think he's ready to be taken out as your second. Not on a real job. It's too dangerous. You need backup. The two of you going out alone—"

"He did  _fine_ ," his father says with conviction. "We had a little trouble with taking the kill shot, but other than that, he was born for this. Never seen a better tracker in my life, and I've worked with the best, darling. He just needs time."

"Okay," she says slowly. "But you take care of both of my boys, okay? I don't want  _either_  of you getting hurt."

He stops listening after that. He really does need a shower, and eavesdropping on their conversation isn't going to make him feel any better about tonight. At least the warm water sooths his tensed muscles, and it's easier to breathe when he's no longer disgustingly dirty.

When he's done, wrapped in nothing but a towel, hair damp and dripping onto his shoulders, he heads out into his room and starts putting things back in the boxes that he hadn't bothered to fully unpack since they moved here three months ago.

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

_He's walking home from work at the bowling alley. He hates taking the late shift on a school night, but if he ever wants to be able to afford a car, he's got to suck it up. He just hopes that he has enough saved up soon, because the rain that's falling from the blackened, moonlit sky soaks through his clothes instantly, and he's still got another half an hour walk until he's home._

_At the last second he turns, heading for the woods. In a town this small, they're everywhere. It's the shortest way to get home, and while he doesn't exactly_ enjoy _walking through the woods at night, he doesn't really have much to worry about. He's done it his whole life, as have most of the kids his age who live here, so he doesn't even think twice about it. Plus, the thick foliage protects him from most of the rain._

_He's almost home, able to see the light shining from his bedroom window — he hadn't meant to leave that on, and his mum is always yelling at him for it— when he hears something behind him. At first he thinks it's just an animal. A squirrel or maybe a bird rustling the leaves._

_Except a twig snaps, and then he hears footsteps. Heavy footsteps, belonging to either a big animal or a person._

" _Who's there?" he shouts, because he's every stupid teenager from every stupid horror movie. He doesn't expect an answer, and he doesn't get one, but he does get another twig snapping, this time to his left._

 _He turns sharply, eyes wide, and tries to make out shapes in the dark. There's enough light coming from the houses in the distance and the moon shining high above him, but he can't see anything. Trees, bushes, fallen branches, but nothing_ alive _._

_Still, there's something uneasy churning his stomach, and he can't help it; he runs. He doesn't make it very far before something is on him. Something heavy, knocking him easily to the ground, stealing the breath from his lungs. Something sharp digs into his back and he tries to roll over, tries to get it off him._

_Somehow he succeeds, flipping onto his back. Whatever's on him doesn't give up, though, and now it's clawing at his chest, breathing heavily above him. All he can hear is low growls, the kind that make him shiver. They don't sound human, exactly, but they don't sound like any animal he can identify, either. They sound_ wrong _, twisted, evil._

 _He meets a pair of ruby red eyes set deep into a mangled face. Just like the sounds it made, this_ thing _, it's face is wrong. The eyes are far too human, but the nose, the mouth, the teeth— they're animalistic. And then the thing leans in, mouth open, acrid breath dampening his skin, teeth dripping with saliva, and pain erupts in his shoulder as—_

Liam sits up so fast his head spins. There's a shout caught in his throat, but it never comes out. He reaches blindly to slap a hand at his alarm clock, still beeping loudly. His blankets are twisted around him, dampened with sweat, and his chest is heaving. He wonders how many times he's going to have that dream. Wonders if he'll ever get a good night's sleep again, or if he's doomed to wake up in a panic every morning, scrambling to take a breath, trying to get the image of red eyes and sharp teeth out of his mind.

Absently, he pokes at his shoulder. He hasn't slept with a shirt on in months. It's just too damn hot, especially when he wakes up like he did today. The skin there is smooth, blemish free, darkened by the tan he got from spending most of his summer outside. Six weeks ago he'd been admitted to the hospital with an animal bite there, one that had destroyed the flesh, left it ripped and gruesome looking. The nurse that had tended to the wound had told him that the scarring would be sever, that there was nothing they could do to help that. There would always be a memory of that night, etched into his skin.

And yet, they were wrong. Two days later he'd woken up, went to change the bandages and— nothing. It's a habit, though, checking that spot. Waiting for the wound to magically appear. To find out that the last couple weeks of his life had been a joke, but they hadn't. The skin there is as unblemished as it had been before the attack, as if it never even happened. And maybe he could pretend that it hadn't, if he tried really hard, but it didn't change the reality of things.

Downstairs, he can hear his mum moving around in the kitchen. He can smell the breakfast she'd made herself, too. Nothing but a cup of coffee and a bit of yogurt with fruit. She's on the phone, talking to Mariah from down the street. If he strains himself, he can hear her voice, too, tiny and distant but still discernable. That still freaks him out, but he's learned to shut it off, tune it out.

He gets out of bed, stretching as he goes. His muscles pop, his back arches, and he feels slightly better afterwards. He's still exhausted, still desperate for another hour or two of sleep, but he can't take another day off school. He's still behind from the week his mum had forced him to take off after the accident, and he can't afford to let his work pile up any higher.

The shower he takes does little to settle this restless feeling inside him. It's like there's something under his skin, something electric, alive, itching and irritating him, never strong enough to take all his attention, but always just  _there,_ in the background. He looks down at his arm, almost expecting to actually see something there, moving around, but there's nothing.

With a sigh, he heads for his dresser, pulling on his clothes. It's raining outside, not heavily but enough that he can't wear just a t-shirt, so he tugs a pullover on, too, and then moves out of his room. He stops at the top of the stairs, listens, knows his mum isn't anywhere near them so, with one quick, private smile, he jumps.

He lands on the bottom floor easily, gracefully, right on the tips of his toes. He eases back onto his heels and straightens his shirt. Sometimes, he can't help it. Can't stop testing himself. It's like pinching your arm to assure yourself that something's real. This? This is real. This is his reality.

"Liam!" his mum calls, far louder than she needs to. In fact, she could have whispered it and he'd probably of heard her, if he was paying enough attention.

He makes his way into the kitchen, snatching an apple out of the basket on the table. "Yeah?"

His mum whirls, hand clutched to her heart. "You scared me," she breathes. "Christ, Liam, make a sound or something."

"Sorry," he says simply, before biting into the crisp skin of the apple. When she leaves, he'll raid the fridge, eat something actually substantial. For now this is enough. "Did you want something?"

"Just wanted to tell you that I'll be working a double shift tonight," she says, shaking her head at him. "I won't be home until eleven."

"Okay," he says with a shrug. "Do you need me to drop you off dinner?"

"You're so sweet," she tells him, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. Her hand falls short, remembering that he really doesn't  _have_  it anymore, not after he cut it off this summer, and then adds, "But no, I'm fine. I'll just get something at the cafeteria."

She's overworked, his mum. He tells her she needs a break all the time, but she insists that they just can't afford it. Maybe if his father helped out, the way he was supposed to, sent child support like he was  _supposed_  to, she could take a day off every once in a while. That's why he's got a job of his own, so he doesn't have to ask her for anything, ever. He doesn't want to have to see the sad, apologetic look on her face when she tells him she just can't afford that new game he wants, or that new sweater, or the tickets to that movie he's been dying to see.

"Love you," she says as he continues to eat his apple. She leans up to press a kiss to his cheek — he's been taller than her since he was fourteen— and then grabs her purse off the back of the nearest chair before heading out.

He hears her car pull out of the lot, hears it drive down the street, and then he pulls open the fridge and makes two sandwiches for himself. He eats the first in three bites but stretches out the second one. His appetite is crazy at this time of the month, he's learned. Or it was last month, and it is this month, so he figures it's juts another side affect of this  _thing_.

Lycanthropy, as Harry calls it. Liam doesn't call it anything. Doesn't really think about it unless he absolutely has to. It's just sort of surreal to him, even now, almost two months later. It's something out of a book, or one of those shitty movies that he only watches when they're on TV and there's nothing better to do. And even if it was something that happened to people, it's not something that happens to people like  _Liam_. Average people. Ones with normal lives.

All he has to do is hold out his hand, focus hard enough, remember the training that he and Harry have been doing for the last couple weeks, and suddenly his fingernails aren't nails at all, they're claws. Sharp, darker than normal, pointed at the tip. The things he could rip through with them is insane, and that thought terrifies him all the time because what if? What if he slips up, hurts someone? But that won't happen, Harry assures him.

Honestly, if you had told him at the beginning of the school year that he'd be bitten by a fucking  _werewolf_ , and that Harry Styles — the dorky, curly haired, too tall kid in his English class— is sort of an expert on this type of thing, has been schooled in the workings of the supernatural by his parents since he was old enough to read, he would have laughed. Or patted you sympathetically on the shoulder and then wished you a good time at the psych ward. Liam is nothing if not well adjusted, though. This whole thing is kind of reminiscent of his parents divorce. At first it had seemed like a joke, and then a dream, and then he'd flipped out a bit before finally accepting that this is just how his life is. Not a damn thing he can do about it, either, so he's got to just roll with the punches.

A familiar engine rumbles down the street and he grins to himself as he swallows the last of his sandwich, chasing it with a sip of orange juice that tastes sort of rancid because of the lingering toothpaste still in his mouth from when he'd brushed his teeth.

He grabs his bag from the front closet and pulls open the door just as Harry stops in front of his house, his clunking, shitty truck inching forward a few feet even though he's probably got his foot pressed down hard on the breaks. That thing is a hazard, he thinks. One of these days it's just going to stop working; he prays that doesn't happen when he's in it, or when they're driving fast — not that it goes above seventy on any given day.

When he gets in the truck, Harry shakes his head. "It still freaks me out that you always know when I'm coming, even before I pull up out front."

Liam grins at him. "I could hear this thing from across town, if I wanted to."

"That's an exaggeration," Harry says. "Probably."

"Probably," Liam says. "But who knows. This thing really is loud as hell."

Harry sticks his tongue out and pulls away from the house. "At least I  _have_  a car."

"If you can call it that."

That earns him a punch on the shoulder that barely even registers, though it probably would have stung a bit a few weeks ago. As it is, Harry looks more pained by the action than he does.

The school lot is filled, as it always is. Harry's car isn't even the worst in the lot, somehow. He parks behind a newer looking vehicle, one he doesn't recognize at all. It's black, small, and the coat of paint looks new. The licence plate isn't a local one.

"Who d'you think that belong to?" Harry asks, frowning down at it.

Liam shrugs. "No idea. New kid, maybe."

"Maybe," Harry agrees. "Cool. I could use someone new to hang out with. You're sort of boring."

"Don't make me rip off your fender," he threatens. "Bet I could, too."

"Without even breaking a sweat," Harry agrees. "But I'll put a wolfsbane bullet between your eyes if you do."

Now Liam's the one who sticks out his tongue as he pulls his bag out of the car and drops to the ground. Harry falls with less grace, wobbling a bit on his too-long limbs. Why he thought getting a truck was a good idea, Liam doesn't know. Harry nearly trips on his own shadow; getting out of his vehicle every day is a dangerous act.

They make their way into school, and Liam winces at the onslaught of sounds and scents. It's not something that bothers him on a normal day, but Harry says that, this close to the full moon, it's harder for him to shut off the extra stuff. To tune it all out. It makes his head pound and his stomach twist, and he wonders why every single female in this place feels the need to bathe in perfume, and he thinks that Axe body spray should probably just be banned from the world.

Harry pats his arm sympathetically, whispers "Just breathe through your mouth," to him, and then they head in opposite directions, Liam's locker closer to the boy's locker room, Harry's closer to the office. They only have one class together, too, which sucks.

He and Harry haven't been friends for all that long, but it feels like they have. The first day he'd been back to school after the accident, Harry had plunked himself down in the seat next to Liam's in English and stuck out his hand with a pleasant, "Hi, I'm Harry Styles."

It had taken a bit for Liam to respond to that because, yeah, they've went to school together since they were six. He knows who Harry is. But he'd taken Harry's hand, returned his greeting with a, "I'm Liam," and since then they've been attached at the hip, almost. On top of being a truly brilliant friend, Harry is possibly the only reason why Liam hadn't gone insane in the weeks after he was bit.

Before Harry, Liam didn't really have friends. He had acquaintances, people he sat with at lunch, or in specific classes, but he didn't have someone that he hung out with after school, that he texted when he was bored in a lesson, that he could call in the middle of the night when he needed to talk about something. He didn't mind that much, either. He was okay with being alone most of the time, Liam. He didn't fit well with other people, for the most part. He liked different things, got easily tongue tied, couldn't find the fun in getting shitfaced at another stupid party thrown by the same people. Plus, unlike some people, Liam actually has to work to get good grades, and sometimes he's just too busy, between homework and actual work to hang out. Harry understands that. He's content to spread out on Liam's bed and play Xbox while he works, occasionally offering help even though he's not really equipped to do so because Harry's brain works in a really weird way, and whenever he tries to explain something, Liam ends up far more confused than he was when they'd started.

Someone slams the locker next to his own and he turns, eyes narrowed, but the girl doesn't bat an eyelash as she walks away, unaware of the fact that she might as well of punched Liam in the back of the head, because the sound of metal on metal has him cringing in pain.

He can't wait until the full moon passes. He can't handle this much longer. Not without getting out of control. Not without going crazy.

Somehow he makes it to class, weaving through other students, but the second he sinks into his normal seat at the back, the bell goes off. Liam clutches at his head, covering his ears, and he makes a pained sound that has everyone already in the room turning to look at him. His teacher, Mrs. Sworin, gives him a concerned look but he smiles weakly at her and mouths 'headache' until she nods and turns back to the whiteboard, quickly writing out things in a blue marker that she smudges because she's left handed. By the end of the day her palm will be stained blue, as it always is.

He makes it through his first class, sends Harry a text during his second, and at lunch he climbs into Harry's car and they get takeaway. They eat in the cab while parked in the lot, far enough from the school that he doesn't have to deal with the rest of the students and the noises, but close enough that they can get inside just after the bell rings.

"You good?" Harry asks, shovelling food in his mouth as he does. His tongue hangs out as he drops a few chips onto it, and then he chews with his mouth open because Harry is truly a disgusting eater, something it only took Liam a total of two hours to learn.

"I'm fine," Liam says honestly. "Right now, at least."

Harry nods. He pats Liam's thigh before stealing a few of his chips, too. "You'll be okay," he says. "Two more days, and then you just have to deal with that night. We'll get through this."

He's far more confident than Liam, but that's probably because Harry doesn't feel like his bones are trying to rip through his skin. "Does it ever get easier?" he asks. "Is it always going to be like this?"

"Yes to both," Harry says. "It'll get easier, but it's always going to be like this. Eventually you'll learn to deal with it, to control it better."

"Until then?"

"We make it up as we go along," Harry says regretfully. He bumps his shoulder against Liam's before repeating, "You'll be fine. We'll get through this."

He knows they will, has no doubt about that. But can they get through it without incident? That's what worries him. He's heard things, from Harry and from what research he'd done in the internet. He's dangerous, is the thing, which is something Liam Payne would have never referred to himself as before. He is, though. Capable of seriously hurting people without even  _meaning_  to. And what if he does mean to? What if he turns and isn't able to stop himself?

He's just finishing his burger when the bell rings. Even out here he winces at it, but it's not so bad. Harry throws their garbage into the trunk and they make their way inside, just a little late, missing the normal rush through the halls. There's only a few stragglers now, others hurrying to class so they're not more late than they already are.

Their English teacher looks up at them, eyebrows raised. Liam flushes, embarrassed, but Harry flashes a bright, disarming grin that has her rolling her eyes and waving them on to their seats without punishment. Except his seat is taken. The one beside it is empty, but still. Liam  _always_  sits there, right in the corner, closest to the window.

He doesn't recognize the guy sitting there, either. He blinks up at Liam with heavily lidded eyes that are a colour he can't quite figure out. They look brown, but then he blinks and they look lighter, almost hazel, maybe like honey. Not that Liam's, like, staring. He's got a bored look on his face, too, and his long lashes threaten to brush his cheekbones as he lowers his gaze to his books, spread out in front of him. The smell of cigarettes that clings to the leather jacket hanging on his seat is faint enough that he can still smell some kind of body spray — or maybe it's just soap, even, something floral and soft— underneath it.

Harry stretches out in the seat two down from him, and Liam sighs in resignation before taking the only seat left. He pulls his books out of his bag, pen poised in his fingers. One look around says that their teacher has told them to start reading, but he has no idea what page. He looks over at Harry and whispers, "What page?"

Harry lifts his hands, just as lost as he is. Beside him, he hears a low, "219."

Liam turns and frowns at the sitting to his right, but he's got his eyes on his page. It's almost as if he hadn't spoken, but when Liam turns to page 219, the same pictures and writing are on the page as the ones this new kid is reading.

"Thanks," Liam says.

Thin shoulders lift and fall, but other than that he might as well not have spoken because that's all the reply he gets. He pulls his eyes away, chewing his bottom lip. It's just— okay, so this guy is sort of gorgeous. Not that there aren't other attractive guys at this school, because there is. Totally suitable, attractive men that he could stare at, but Liam's never really been interested in them. He's watched all those guys — and girls, occasionally, because Liam's not really specific in what he likes— grow up, from scrawny kids with scabbed knees into awkward preteens with cracked voices and acne. And this guy's  _different_. It's in the way he holds himself, hunched in, like he's trying not to be seen, but somehow with an air of arrogance anyways, like he's aware of the fact that he's attractive. And he's got stubble along his jaw, something that Liam's fairly sure half the kids in their grade aren't even capable of having, and his skin is a smooth, rich colour that Liam sort of wants to dig his teeth into and—,

He clenches his fists, blinking down at the claws that dig into his desk. He takes a quick look around, checking to see if anyone else noticed. No one but Harry, apparently, who gives him a confused look and mouths, "What's wrong?" at him.

Liam shakes his head, not exactly sure. Except that restless feeling is suddenly impossibly worse, and his heart seems to be thudding in his chest. And all he can hear is the guy behind him, breath whispering out of his mouth as his lips form the words he's reading on the page, but he doesn't say them aloud. And whatever soap he's wearing now seems to clog Liam's senses, overwhelming and delicious. He honestly has no fucking idea what's going on with him, but it's fogging his brain and making his vision go sharp and tunnel like, unable to focus on anything.

The guy beside him makes a frustrated sound, scratches a pen against his paper until the corner tears. He turns to Liam, lips curled in distaste. "Do you have an extra pen?"

It takes far longer for those words to register than it should, and even longer for his brain to catch up with him and work them out. He shakes his head, no, but then he hands over his own anyways before shutting his books, stuffing them in his bag and standing up. His teacher calls after him as he leaves, but he can't keep sitting there.

He gets at text from Harry seconds later, one that consists of nothing but about fifteen question marks. He doesn't reply as he pushes open the school doors, the cold air cooling his skin, which suddenly feels fever hot. One minute he blinks, and the world is awash with bright colours, sun shining through the clouds that have opened to allow the blue sky to peak through, bright green leaves and grass, shiny cars in yellows and oranges and blues and purples. And then the next everything's got a red tinge to it, cast in blood coloured shadows.

Pulling his bag higher up on his shoulder, Liam runs. It takes him seconds to cross the parking lot, even less time to break into the line of trees. He keeps going, waiting for his muscles to ache, waiting for his breath to catch and his chest to burn, but that never comes. He just keeps going, moving far quicker than he'd be able to before, not having to stop and take heaving breaths. He gets home in five minutes flat, breaking his last record by about fifteen minutes.

No one's home, at least, so he'll have time to delete the message from the school that's going to come in any minute now, talking about Liam walking out on his class and skipping his last one. It's not that he doesn't want to get in trouble, he just doesn't want his mother to worry about him. There's nothing she can do to help, so why put more stress on her? Liam can deal with this. He dealt with it last month, when things had been scary and new, and he'll deal with it this month.

He falls into his bed after grabbing a snack from the fridge, and he spends a long time staring up at his ceiling, breathing heavily. Eventually he calms down, gets a hold on himself again, and he finally texts Harry back an apology, but not an explanation. He doesn't really have one.

 

* * *

 

 

**Zayn**

"How was school?" his mum asks when he walks through the door.

Zayn frowns at her before scoffing. "It was school, mum. What do you think?"

She's in the kitchen, stirring things around in a pot. He smells the spices, and seared meat, figures she's making stew. "Did you make any friends?" she wonders, a hopeful tilt to her voice.

"Oh, loads," Zayn says flippantly. He grabs a coke out of the fridge. "Everyone wants to be friends with the weird new kid."

She makes a face at him for that. She knows him well enough to tell when he's being sarcastic, even if he's doing his best not to sound like he is. "Give it time," she tells him. "Who knows, this could be the place you fit in."

He highly,  _highly_  doubts this. Something he learned around the fourth school, when he was twelve and skinny and his Superman t-shirt was something that got him laughed at instead of making him friends, like he thought it would, was that he is not the type of person who thrives in social settings. Sure, people eye him with interest the first day, as people  _always_  do with a new kid, but Zayn's just too far left of  _different_ , just  _a tad too weird_ , too out of place, and he's shit at making friends so he stopped trying. He stopped trying three years ago and, at seventeen, he can honestly say that he's never had a best friend. Never had someone to sit with every day at lunch, or call after school. And he's fine with that, he is.

"Well, the girls had a better time than you did," his mum says, like that's something that'll make him feel better about his own situation. "Safaa's already been invited to a birthday party, and Waliyha's at a friend's house right now."

"Good for them," Zayn grumbles. "I'm going to my room. Call me if you need me."

"Oh, your father will!" she yells after him. "He's meeting up with Clark in—,"

Zayn's nose wrinkles at that. In this line of work, you get some people who are really good at the job. And then you get people like Clark, who take it too far. Who cross the line of killing for necessity into killing because they like it. Who don't take mercy on the animals that they've sworn to rid the world of. Who think they're incapable of feeling pain, and enjoy torturing them. Zayn hates the guy, he really does, and he's the only reason they're even here right now. Clark's family has lived in this town for years, and they're known enough that even the werewolves are aware of the fact that they've taken residence here, know not to fuck with this place. Recently someone has decided to test that reputation. The amount of attacks in the last couple months is higher than this place has seen in over three decades.

That's why his family has been called in.

So on top of being fucking  _insane_ , Clark is also the reason that Zayn won't be spending his last year of school before Uni in a familiar place. He's the reason they have to start over  _again_. And while he wasn't exactly popular at his old school, he'd gotten to know a few people out of necessity, maybe he  _could_  have made friends. Now he's back at ground zero, stuck trying to work his way up again if he decides he even wants to make the effort. He probably won't.

Going up to his room is a bad idea, though. There's a bed, a dresser, and a side table; the rest of the room is crowded with boxes. Or, it  _should_  be crowded with boxes, but in reality there's only about four of them. He's downsized all of his things over time, knowing that it's easier to pack up and move if he has less stuff to haul to the next place.

He should probably unpack, he rationalizes, but he doesn't want to. He'll live out of those boxes for the next couple months, if they stay that long. And in a year's time he'll be going off to University. He does push the boxes against the wall, at least, and he hangs up his clothes in the closet, shoves a few into the dresser drawers, locates the book he'd been reading before they moved, the one with the faded Harry Potter bookmark in it — the one he's had since he was nine, just after the first movie came out. It's the oldest thing he owns, he's fairly sure, and you can tell just looking at it. Still, for some reason he takes better care of that damn bookmark than he does himself.

That takes all of about, oh, five minutes, and then he's got nothing else to again. It's not that late in the semester, but it was late enough that it was hard for him to get a transfer, and he's got a lot of work to catch up on. The last school he'd went to was more advanced, though, so it's not like he hasn't already learned this stuff. It's just a matter of showing his new teachers where he's at, really.

He doesn't want to do homework, though. He isn't in the right mindset for it. Instead he places his book on his bedside table, locates his half-empty pack of cigarettes from where it's stashed in the bottom drawer, pulls two out and then tugs his coat back on. He heads downstairs, bypassing the kitchen this time so he can get to the garage.

His bow is one of the only things not locked up in a case. He grabs his arrows, too, and then makes his way into their spacious backyard. They're on the outskirts of town, far enough from the more populated parts of the city that their house is on a really big chunk of land. There's no one around for a while, so he's safe to set up a target and practice his shooting without having to worry.

His dad's been trying to get him more used to the compound bow, but he doesn't like it. He likes his own best, the one he's been using since he was younger. Parts of it have been broken, been replaced, but he's attached to it. It's like an extension of his body, something he's as comfortable with as he is his arms, or legs.

He focuses on hitting the target as perfectly as he can, and he does because he's good at this. Has been for as long as he can remember. He doesn't get lost in it the way he used to, though. His dad taught him not to. Sure, concentration is key, but focusing on only one thing could get you killed. You've got to be tuned into your surroundings at all times.

That's why he hears the car pull up, hears muffled voices, one he recognizes and one he doesn't, and then his dads. The front door slams closed behind them, and he only gets two more shots off before the back door opens and they come outside.

"Zayn!" his father shouts. "Come here. I have someone for you to meet."

He lowers his bow and turns, eyebrows raised. His father waves him over and he sighs before complying. Clark is standing just behind him, looking the way he always does. Flyaway sandy hair, bright eyes that flit between both of his own too quickly for him to be considered sane in any way. Beside him is someone new, though. Someone younger. There's a shock of blonde hair — too blonde, probably dyed— and another pair of blue eyes, but these ones are darker, and there's something clear and normal about them, though the shape is one that is similar to Clark's. Related, definitely, but the crazy gene is obviously not hereditary in this case.

"This is Niall," his dad says. "Clark's nephew."

Zayn extends his hand, and it's instantly clasped in a warm one, thin, pale fingers contrasting with his own. The grip is just shy of too tight, but the look on the guy's face is nothing if not friendly. In fact, his cheeks are a bit red, his lips are spread wide, and there's a curious but kind look in his eyes.

"Hey," he says. "Nice to have someone my age around here in the know."

Now that this guy's said it, Zayn realizes that that's true for him, too. All his life he's sort of had this huge secret that he's not been allowed to share with anyone. That might be half the reason he's never made any friends. What's the point when you have to hide so much from them? Secrets do not make good friendships, he thinks.

"Same here," Zayn finds himself saying.

"You two go to school together," Clark adds.

"We have Chemistry and History together," Niall offers. "Would have introduced myself, but no one told me who you were, so." He shoves his hands in his pockets and offers Zayn an apologetic look.

"No big deal," Zayn tells him. He looks at his dad. "Can I go back to practising?"

"No, you can't," his father says firmly, but the smile on his face softens the words. "I was thinking Niall could show you around, fill you in on some stuff around here while Clark and I talk."

"It'll be fun," Niall assures him. "You'd think that there'd be shit all to do around a place this small, but trust me. If you're with the right people, you can have a good time."

"Um." Zayn licks his lips, debates arguing this, but in the end he nods. He doesn't really have a choice, he knows. "Okay."

A set of keys are pressed into his hand, and he looks up at his dad in surprise. "Bring her back in one piece, and don't be too late." He pulls out a few bills, too. "Get dinner while you're out, too, on me."

He might not be the normal teenager, but Zayn knows better than to turn down money. "Cool. Thanks."

They don't bother trekking through the house to get out front. Instead they walk around the building, and then Zayn gets into the driver's seat of his dad's SUV. It's new and he's only driven it a total of two times, and once he'd actually stolen it, which earned him a month of grounding, not that he minded, really. He might as well be grounded all the time, because it's not as if he  _does_  anything.

"Wish Clark would let me borrow the car sometime," Niall comments, sliding a hand over the dashboard. "This thing's nice."

Zayn nods. "He rarely lets me use it. I think he's just trying to look like the cool dad in front of you."

Niall chuckles at this. "Take advantage of that, then," he says. "I know I would."

He shrugs and pulls away from the house. The thing is, he's never really  _wanted_  for anything. Ever. They have money and his parents are reasonable. As long as he keeps up with his practises, his lessons, and gets good grades, they'd let him have whatever he wants. He has a car of his own, too, but it's not nearly as nice as the SUV, and the back is filled with random garbage because he hasn't cleaned it— ever, actually. Not once since he's gotten it.

Niall rattles off directions, and Zayn only takes one wrong turn. He thinks that's a win, given the fact that he's not explored this place yet. Tomorrow after school, when he's alone, he'll go for a ride, memorize every street, where all the main stores are, the works. Get a feel for the place. The fact that there's forest  _everywhere_  has him on edge a bit, though. Anything can hide behind trees.

When he gets to their destination, he turns the car off and frowns, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look out the front window. "Bowling," he says. "Seriously?"

Laughing, Niall nods and undoes his seatbelt. "Trust me," he says. "Best food in town, and after eight they shut off the lights and put on the disco ball and turn up the music. It's sort of lame, but they do a discount for students, so it's only like five quid to play all night. But this isn't the only place we're going. This is just the first stop."

It's not like he's ever claimed to know what normal kids do during their time off, but this isn't what he expected at all. Still, he lets Niall lead him inside. It's just a typical bowling alley, really. He doesn't have much experience with actual bowling, but he's went once or twice when he was younger.

There are quite a few kids their age inside, split into groups, each in a various stage of the game. Someone shouts in frustration when they get a gutter ball, while another cheers after getting a strike. Niall weaves through the other kids, not stopping until they're at the last lane, where there's already a group of about six people hanging out.

One of them has a ball in hand, and he's stepping up to the lane, a determined look on the face. Zayn distantly recognizes this guy from one of his classes. He's got perfectly styled hair, pale blue eyes, jeans that look almost painfully tight, hugging his thighs and ass in a way that he almost considers proactive, really. He's got good form, though, and he gracefully rolls his ball down the lane, where it hit's the middle pin and knocks down all the others, except one.

Several people clap, one person whistles, but the guy turns with a glare on his face. "Whatever," he says. "Almost good. I'll get them all next time."

"Hey," Niall says loudly, and the whole group turns to them.

"Horan," the one who'd just went says. "Where the hell've you been? And who's that?"

Zayn crosses his arms defensively over his chest as everyone turns their attention to him only. It makes him feel more than a little uncomfortable, and it's obvious that they're all sizing him up, checking him out. Apparently he's up to their standards or something, because grins spread over nearly all of their faces. The guy with the tight jeans comes up to him, hands extended.

"Louis Tomlinson," he says. "Also known as Niall Horan's best friend. And you are?"

"Zayn," he answers, dropping the guy's hand as soon as he deems it polite enough to do so.

"Zayn," Louis repeats slowly. "Nice to meet you, Zayn."

"Likewise," he says without conviction.

"Zayn, this is everyone," Niall says with a wide, sweeping gesture. "Everyone, this is Zayn."

"Hey, Zayn," is repeated about five times, and then the game resumes.

"Let's get some food," Niall tells him. "Put us in for next game, though," he adds to everyone else.

"Will do," Louis says brightly.

Zayn allows Niall to drag him away to the front counter that they'd bypassed on their way in. They get shoes — he does not think about how insanity this is, wearing shoes that a hundred other people already have— and forks over the cash for them. Then he's swept away to the other side of the building. There's a few small tables set up here, and a long counter where a guy with a red hat and an apron on is tapping his fingers impatiently against the counter as he flips through what almost looks like a comic book but— no, it couldn't be. He learned a long time ago that he's practically the only one his age who enjoys shit like that.

The guy looks up before they get close, and he's got a dead look on his face, the kind someone only gets when working at a job they hate. His eyes slide over Niall without care, but when they stop on Zayn they widen.

They're a nice, deep brown, and the thick eyebrows above them are just bushy enough to keep him from having a baby face. His lips part— they're pink and sort of soft looking— as he makes a sound of surprise that's almost too quite to hear.

"Can we get some onion rings?" Niall asks. "And a coke for me. No, wait, a slushie. The red kind. No, blue. Wait, do you guys still do milkshakes?"

"Um." The guy licks his lips in a really distracting way, and Zayn suddenly recognizes him. The guy from his English class, the one who lent him the pen before practically running from the room. "Yeah, we do. Vanilla, strawberry and chocolate."

Niall nods, debating this. "Can I get half chocolate, half strawberry?"

"Um," the guy says again. He looks over his shoulder behind him. There's a window cut into the wall that must lead to the kitchen. "Sure, I guess."

"Perfect," Niall says.

He rings up Niall's order before turning to Zayn. "What about you?"

He looks at the menu. It's all really simple: chips, onion rings, burgers, grilled cheese sandwiches, soft drinks, milkshakes, and slushies. All reasonably priced, too. He flits a look between the menu and the guy, whose nametag reads  **Liam,** and says, "I'll take the same as him, but with a vanilla milkshake."

Liam goes to ring it up but he first asks, "Paying together or separately?"

"I've got both," Zayn says, pulling the money his dad gave him out of his pocket.

"I like you already," Niall tells him. "Anyone who buys me food is good in my books."

Liam nods, takes the money, hands him back the change and then calls in their orders. Niall leans against the counter as they wait while Zayn watches Liam work the ice cream machine. He'd noticed it in class, too, but it's more obvious now just how attractive this guy is. Zayn really doesn't have a type, he doesn't, but he likes the wide shoulders and thick fingers and the soft look in this guy's eyes. He's seen a lot of terrifying shit in his life, Zayn, and there's something comforting and so freaking  _normal_  looking about this guy that he wants to gravitate towards.

Eventually their food is ready, though, and Niall grabs the tray with one last grin for Liam that feels more polite than anything. Zayn casts him a look over his shoulder as he follows Niall back to the others, and Liam meets Zayn's eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He drops his gaze as soon as he realizes Zayn caught him looking, and he wonders what the hell that even means.

"Who is that guy?" he asks when Niall drops their plate on the table that everyone else is sitting around.

This time it's a girl that's stepping up to the lane. She throws her ball and it rolls into the gutter. She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand, and then sinks down onto the lap of one of the other guy's. Zayn can't help but think that his sister Doniya would have hated girls like that, if she ever met them. But she wouldn't ever get the chance to meet the giggling girl because— nope. Not thinking about that.

"Who?" Louis asks, reaching over to steal one of Niall's onion rings. Niall slaps him for it.

Zayn doesn't turn around, just in case Liam is watching and picks up on the fact that he's talking about him. "The one who works back there. Liam."

"Liam," Louis repeats, eyebrows scrunched together. He turns to Niall for help. "Do we know a Liam?"

"Liam  _Payne_ ," Niall says. "The one—,"

" _Oh_." Louis slaps his own forehead. "Right. The one who hangs out with that loser — what's his name? Curly hair, stupidly tall, laughs like a hyena—,"

"Harry," Niall offers. "And you know his name. You live literally right next door to each other and your parent's have been trying to push the two of you together since you were in diapers."

"Right," Louis says, ignoring the rest of Niall's words. "Anyways, what about Liam?"

Zayn shrugs, feeling uncomfortable. "Nothing, just— what's his deal?"

Louis slings an arm over his shoulder. "Trust me, mate," he says, and Zayn really, really doesn't, "you don't want to fuck with those kinds of people. Not unless you want to each lunch in the bathroom and sit at home alone on a Friday night." He squeezes Zayn's shoulder for emphasis. "You're far too attractive to slum it like that. Let Niall and I guide you."

He carefully moves out of Louis' grip and says, "I was just wondering."

He doesn't add that spending Friday alone at home sounds far more appealing than _this_ , mostly because he can tell this guy means well, even if he comes off as a dick. And Niall's been nothing but nice, and he doesn't want to offend him or something.

"Zayn, you're up," someone tells him.

He sucks in a breath and nods, approaching the ball thing— he has no idea what it's called, but the balls come back out it after they've been thrown down the lane— warily. He gets his fingers into the holes of a shiny blue one and then steps up to the line, trying to remember how to do this. He can't, so he thinks  _fuck it_  and pulls his arm back before swinging it forward and releasing the ball. Except it gets stuck, and he stumbles forward, arms pin wheeling.

Everyone behind him laughs, and his cheeks burn. He chances a look at the far back of the room, where Liam's watching him, head resting on his hand. His expression doesn't change and he doesn't join in the laughter. After a moment he offers Zayn a weak smile that he doesn't attempt to return.

He turns back to the lane, this time not trying as hard, but he manages to knock over literally every pin. There's a round of congratulations, and Louis and Niall both look impressed. Honestly, he doesn't really care.

The next hour or so is like that. He eats, sips his too melted to be pleasant milkshake and occasionally he throws a ball down the lane. He wins the game, too, which is surprising, and Louis asks him for pointers while Niall says that it was just beginners luck.

Everyone packs up and leaves, their garbage still littering the table and the area around it. As he's ducking out the door, he spots Liam moving to clean up after them, and he feels bad. Not bad enough to do anything about it, though.

He and Niall get back in the SUV, and then they drive to the other side of town to a house that's even nicer than his own. It's Louis' house, apparently, and there's a beautiful, sleek Porsche out front that he'd seen earlier at the bowling alley.

"His parents spoil him," Niall explains. "They're never home so they buy him stuff to make up for it."

Zayn nods, impressed. His parents would never, in a million years, get him a car that nice, even  _if_  they could afford it. He'd be too scared of crashing it anyways. He's not exactly the greatest driver, and he always gets nervous. He'd be a wreck in something that expensive, and his parents would murder him if he destroyed it.

Niall doesn't knock before walking straight into Louis' house. They leave their shoes on as they make their way to the living room, where Louis' playing Xbox with another guy from the bowling alley whose name alludes Zayn until Niall says, "Josh, give me your controller."

He pulls his lighter out of his pocket and flicks it as he watches them shoot each other on screen. He's been dying for a cigarette since he got in the car the first time, and now he's getting restless. He's just about to duck outside for one when Louis slides an ashtray onto the table.

"My parents smoke inside all the time," he explains. "Be my guest. Do you want a drink?"

"Sure," Zayn says. "Thanks."

Louis winks at him, disappearing from the room. Niall shouts after him, and when he comes back he hands a can to both of them before popping open his own and sinking back onto the floor.

"So where are you from, Zayn?" Louis asks. "You haven't told us anything about yourself."

He takes a drag off his cigarette to stall, and then answers with a simple, "From all over. We move a lot."

"That must be so awesome," Louis breathes. "I've been stuck in this shit hole my whole life. I can't wait to get out."

Niall rolls his eyes at this. "You'll never leave," he says. "You've got it too good here."

Louis waves him off. "I will. I'm going to move to London, get some fabulous job that lets me meet celebrities and go to movie premiers and the best parties."

There's that determined look on his face again, and his eyes are out of focus, like he's picturing this. Zayn thinks he actually will, if he really wants to. Louis seems like the type of person that could do anything if he set his mind to it.

By the time they leave, the sky is black and the stars hang brightly above them. He drives Niall home — he's living with Clark, apparently, close to the school — and then starts in the direction of his own home. He wants to drag out the drive, wants to spend more time just driving aimlessly, because it's better than doing nothing. He passes by the bowling alley at one point, and he sees Liam push through the doors, coat pulled tightly around himself. He ducks his head and starts walking, but at the last second he lifts his eyes to Zayn.

There's no way he can see through the tinted windows, but he holds Zayn's gaze for a long time before letting out a sigh and continuing on his walk. If Zayn were a bolder person, or if he cared enough, he'd offer the poor guy a ride home. As it is, he keeps driving.

 

—

 

He doesn't see Liam again until lunch the next day, and he wonders why he even cares about that. There's just something fascinating about him, about the soft, distant look that's constantly on his face. He's walking with the guy Louis described yesterday. He's all thick hair, bright smiles and loud voice. Zayn waves them over.

"What are you  _doing_ , new kid?" Louis demands, but Niall just scoots over, making room for another seat beside theirs.

Liam stops dead in his tracks, tray of food in his hands, and his friend turns to him and asks him something that Zayn can't hear from this far away. He says something back, Curly turns, and then he gapes at the table before turning back to Liam.

"Come sit with us," Zayn calls.

Now everyone at their table is looking at him weirdly, but he doesn't care. Curly shrugs and veers towards their table, but Liam hesitates. Curly grabs his arm and tugs him forward, and Zayn attempt to give him an inviting smile, though he has no idea why he's even doing this because he  _doesn't_  do things like this. Doesn't go out of his way to talk to anyone, or make friends. In fact, this is the first time in— ever, really, that he hasn't sat alone at lunch, or even camped out in his car until the hour was up.

"Hey," Curly says, pulling a chair over from another table. He pushes it beside Zayn's and drops his tray onto the table. "What's up?"

The whole table is silent as Liam gets a chair and sits beside Curly. He looks a little lost, and he keeps his eyes on his food even though he's not eating it. In fact, his hands are clenched into fists on his thighs, and if he looks close enough, Zayn would almost guess that he's out of breath, or breathing heavily at least.

"You know," Curly comments, pointing a chip in no specific direction, "this table seems like a lot more fun from far away."

Niall snorts a laugh and says, "See, Louis? I always told you I liked Harry."

Louis' lips curl up and he says, "That you have, but then, I've always told you that you have bad taste."

"Ouch," Harry says, covering his chest. "You wound me, Tomlinson. Haven't we been best friends since we were in diapers?"

"Just because we're neighbours," Louis hisses, "does not mean that we were  _ever_  friends." He tilts his chin defiantly. "You've always been weird, and that's only gotten worse over the years."

"So," Niall says before Harry can snap something in reply, "Liam, do you, like, get to eat and play for free at the bowling alley because you work there?"

Liam looks up, as if he's surprised that anyone's talking to him. "No," he says. "I mean, I get a discount, but I don't get to play for free."

"I'll have to keep that in mind," Niall says. "Maybe get myself a job there. God only knows I could use it. Spend my entire allowance at that place."

"We're hiring," Liam says, smiling faintly. "I could put in a good word with my boss, if you like."

"No way," Louis says. "You can't work there, Niall, we hang out there. What kind of loser— no offence, obviously, Liam— works at a  _bowling alley_?"

An arm bumps him from the left, and he looks over at Harry, eyebrows raised. "Haven't introduced myself," he explains. "I'm Harry. Harry Styles."

"Zayn," he says. "Malik."

Weirdly enough, Harry's open, bright expression falls at this, and his eyes narrow dangerously. "Really," he says, voice cold. He stands up, putting a hand on Liam's shoulder. "We've got to go. As lovely as it was spending time with you all, Louis' cologne is going to make me throw up, so —," he tugs at Liam's shirt. "Come on, Li."

Zayn watches them walk away, dumbstruck until Louis snaps, "That's  _exactly_  why we don't talk to them, Zayn. I told you. That curly-haired prick is  _weird_."

He thinks that maybe Louis is right, but maybe there's something else there. Something that he's missing. Whatever it is, he'll figure it out.

 

* * *

 

 

**Liam**

"Where are we going?" Liam asks.

Harry's been driving for five minutes, since he pulled Liam from the table in the cafeteria and shoved him into the truck. He's yet to explain anything, but Liam rarely sees him like this. He's nervously chewing his nails, slamming his hands on the steering wheel when the car in front of them drives too slowly, muttering curses under his breath.

"You need to stay away from him," Harry says finally. "Zayn. Far away from him, Liam, do you understand me?"

Liam blinks rapidly in surprise. That was not at all what he expected Harry to say. "Excuse me?"

Harry barely seems to hear him. "I knew that we were having trouble in town," he says, but it's more like he's talking to himself than Liam. "I mean, on top of your attack, there was that homeless guy who was mauled by an animal a few weeks ago, and he died. And then that young couple a few months ago, and the police claimed it was a car accident, but there were claw marks at the crime scene and—,"

" _Harry_ ," Liam snaps. "What are you going on about?"

"The attacks, Liam, honestly," he says without taking his eyes off the road. "You're not the only one. You're just the only one that was  _bitten_. And— and there's been more attacks here than there has been in— in years, not since that old werewolf family used to live here, the ones I told you about, the ones my family used to look after."

Liam nods. He doesn't know the full story, but Harry's family is like — they're sort of like supernatural doctors, kind of. A few years ago — okay, about a hundred—, this town used to be the home of several different werewolf families. That's why Harry's family moved here. Except not long after, a bunch of hunters came in, wiped them out and ran the others out of town. Since then, Harry's family has stayed because they were comfortable here.

"Okay," Liam says slowly. "What does that have to do with Zayn?" he asks. His eyebrows draw together as he thinks. "He's not a werewolf. I'd know."

"You would," Harry agrees. " _Probably_. We never got to that part of your training because there wasn't really any way too since it's not like we have access to a bunch of other 'wolves, Liam. But— no, he's not a werewolf. He's a  _hunter_."

He waits for the punch line, waits for Harry to laugh. It doesn't happen. "No way," he says, shaking his head.

There's just no way. He'd be able to tell, wouldn't he? He'd have sensed it. Zayn didn't seem dangerous at all, and the way Harry described them, hunters were cruel and lethal and they couldn't grasp the concept that not all werewolves were killers. Like humans, Harry had explained, there are bad ones in the bunch, but werewolves are totally capable of living long, full lives without harming anyone, if they try hard enough.

"I should have known," Harry mutters. They're pulling up in front of the veterinary clinic, the one that Harry's parents own. "When he started hanging out with Niall, I should have guessed."

"Niall's a hunter, too?" Liam demands. That— that's not even possible. Niall is far too laid back, all laughter and easy grins, even to Liam, even when no one else pays attention to him. Niall is  _nice_. Sure, he hangs out with assholes, but he always chats with Liam when he gets food and drinks at the alley, and he always scolds his friends when they treat him like shit just because he actually has to work for a living, unlike the rest of them whose parents have everything and give them whatever they want.

"No," Harry assures him. "He's not. His uncle is, though, and my parents figured this would happen. Figured he'd bring in back-up now that the attacks are getting more and more frequent. I just— didn't expect one to go to  _school_  with us. Do you realize how dangerous this is for you?"

He shakes his head, honestly having no idea. "I don't."

Harry sighs and parks the car. "It's just— we could hide it, you know? As long as you come to the clinic at the full moon, like you did last month, there's no way anyone would be able to tell. They'd never look for a werewolf at the school, they'd never expect one to be so young. But hunters— they train them young, Liam, and I'd bet my left hand that Zayn's following in his parent's footsteps, and that's dangerous for you. All it takes is one slip up, for him to look a little too closely at you, and— and—,"

"And what?" Liam whispers.

Harry shakes his head, hands clenched around the steering wheel. "It doesn't matter. It won't happen. Not if I have any say in it. Come on, let's go talk to my dad."

Liam nods and gets out of the car, but Harry's words have left him shaken. He's silent on the way into the clinic, and Harry's dad looks up at him from behind the counter. He's a pleasant man, with the same smile as Harry and the same green eyes, though the shape of Harry's is more like his mum's.

"What are you doing?" he demands of them. "Shouldn't you two be at school? Lunch just ended."

Harry looks around, making sure they're alone, and then he says, "Malik. What does that name mean to you?"

His father bristles instantly. "You know what it means to me," he says, voice dangerously low. "That family—,"

"Is living here," Harry tells him. "Their son goes to our school."

Two pairs of green eyes pierce through Liam, and his hands sweat. He rubs them on his jeans and says, "Can we not look at Liam like he's a dead man walking, please?"

"Sorry," Harry says instantly, at the same time as his dad says, "Sorry, son."

"It's fine," Liam says dismissively. "Just— could someone explain to me what's happening? How do you know they're hunters?"

Harry's dad shakes his head and moves out from behind the counter. He flips the open sign over and locks the door before moving back behind it, sinking down onto the stool there. "It's our job to know about hunting families," his father explains. "It's a precaution. Some are better known than others, and the Maliks—,"

"Murderers," Harry hisses. "That's what they are. I don't care what their reasoning is. They kill people. It's a fact."

"Is it a fact," his father agrees, but he doesn't look upset, the way Harry does. "You can't blame them for that. That's how they're raised. It's what they're taught."

"Whatever," Harry says, falling ungracefully into one of the visitor's chairs. "There's no excuse for killing another person, in my books."

"I agree," his father says. "You know I do, but that's not important. It doesn't matter what they did. What matters is why they're here, and making sure they don't come sniffing around Liam."

"Because they'd kill me," Liam guesses. "Right?"

"They would consider it, at least," Harry's dad admits. "They might not, given your age and the fact that you've never hurt anyone, but— not all hunters abide by that code. It'd be dangerous for them to know about you, at best. Deadly at the worst."

"So what do we do?" Harry asks. "He goes to school with us, dad!"

"I'm going to go and pay his father a visit," Harry's dad says. "They'll know who I am, and maybe I can convince them that they're not needed here. Or we might just have to be careful until they leave. Families like that, they don't stick around one place very long. They'll figure out who's causing the attacks around here, eliminate the threat and move on. Until them, Liam, I suggest you stay out of the spotlight. Don't draw attention to yourself. And I'd stay far, far away from that boy that goes to school with you."

He wonders why a protestation bubbles up inside him at that. He nods, pushing down the part of him that says he doesn't  _want_  to stay away from Zayn, since that part of him is being ridiculous. It's dangerous, apparently, and it's not like he knows Zayn at all, anyways. He'll stay away from him. There's no other option, and no reason for him to want there to be, either.

 

—

 

He goes to school the next day, though that's probably a bad idea. He's been restless for days, unable to focus properly or sit still, but today it's different. Today he's moody and waspish, and he doesn't wait for Harry to show up to drive him in the morning. Instead he stomps out into the rain, muttering about Harry always being late, and he starts the long walk to school. Of course, he  _could_  just run, but Harry had told him not to do that for a while. Apparently the whole fucking town is a danger zone, and he can't risk appearing anything other than completely normal, and running at fifty miles an hour through the forest is breaking that rule.

It's like he can feel the moon under his skin, but that doesn't even make  _sense_ , he's just so fucking aware of it, aware of what day it is, and it's making him go mad. He snaps at a driver when he crosses the street without looking and they honk at him. He walks past Mr. Milton, the man who owns the corner store, not offering the normal sunny smile. He calls a greeting to Liam that he ignores, gritting his teeth against the snapped words that bubble up inside him.

Another car honks at him, but this one idles slowly beside him as he walks. Every time he gets so far, it moves forward until it's beside him again. The window rolls down and Zayn grins at him. It's sort of heartbreaking, the way his face lights up like that. His eyes get crinkly at the sides, and for the first time ever, he doesn't look standoffish.

Liam keeps walking.

"Do you want a ride?" he calls.

"No," Liam grinds out. "I'm fine."

He wonders if Zayn would offer if he knew what Liam was. If he knew what was just under Liam's skin, threatening to rip through at any second. He's only felt this close to the edge once before, and that was the last full moon. Not that he can't change at any given time, but that's usually only when his emotions control him. When he gets angry, or sad, or Harry says lust can do it, too, and he wonders if maybe that's what happened that first time he met Zayn. Wonders why he wants to dig his nails into Zayn's skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to leave red marks on him, to let everyone know exactly who'd been touching him, who he belonged to—

Where did that even come from? He growls at himself in frustration, and then he realizes that Zayn's still there, drifting along beside him, ignoring the honks from other drivers who have to swerve past him. Yeah, that's smart, Liam. Growl at the fucking werewolf hunter.

"What do you want?" Liam finally snaps. He can't help himself. "I said I was fine. I don't want a ride."

Zayn looks more than a little taken aback, and a wounded look flashes in his eyes before they narrow. "Fine, whatever. Sorry for bothering you," Zayn spits before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement. Liam watches him go, hands balling into fists.

Harry finds him at his locker. There's an annoyingly concerned look on his face, and Liam can't even wait until he opens his mouth to say, "I'm  _fine_ , fuck. Stop looking at me like I'm five seconds away from ripping someone's head off."

"Oh, like the way you just ripped off mine for  _worrying_  about my  _best friend_?" Harry asks. "You're right, why would I look at you like that? Absolutely uncalled for. My bad."

He slams his locker closed, books gripped tightly in his hands. "I don't need you to worry. I said I'm fine."

"This is normal," Harry says, falling into step beside him as he moves swiftly down the hall. Harry can't move past people as easily, and he ends up bumping into more than one. Liam laughs at him for it, cruel and cold, and it makes Harry's eyebrows draw closer together. "Okay, I know you're going to be a dick today, and I know it's not  _you_ , it's — your condition, but still. Could you at least make an effort not to be an asshole? This isn't you, Li. You're not like this."

"Because a few weeks of hanging out means that you know me so well," Liam says sarcastically. "Right?"

"Liam!" Harry calls after him when he moves faster down the hall.

"Leave me alone!" Liam shouts, not bothering to turn around.

When he steps into the cafeteria hours later, Harry's sitting alone at their usual table, pushing his food around on his plate, not really touching it. Zayn's glaring at him from where he sits between Niall and Louis. He  _would_  be popular instantly, wouldn't he? That's what happen with pretty people. They band together in groups and laugh at the unfortunately ugly. He's sort of glad, at this point, that he can't go near Zayn. He wouldn't want to even if he could.

When he falls into the seat across from Harry's, he looks up at Liam, smiling faintly. "Sorry for earlier," Liam grunts while shovelling food into his mouth. "Not your fault. Mine. I know."

Harry nods before raising his eyebrows in amusement. "Hungry?"

"Starving," Liam says through a mouthful of— he's not even sure, actually. Is that really considered meat? He doesn't think it is, but it's  _food_ , so he doesn't care.

"Here," Harry says, sliding his tray over, too, after snatching the apple off it. "Take mine."

Liam nods and keeps eating, only grunting and nodding in response to everything Harry says as he clears his tray first, and then Harry's about a minute later. When he's done, his stomach feels almost as empty as it had before lunch, none of the food enough to sate him. He downs his drink in two sips, and when he screws the lid back on, he accidentally puts his claws through the plastic, which has Harry's eyes widening. He tugs the bottle out of Liam's grasp and hides it in his bag before looking around, making sure no one else noticed.

Liam rolls his eyes and focuses on listening. Zayn's talking with Niall, sounding uninterested in everyone's chatter about a party they're all going to be at tonight. Must be nice, he thinks, not having to worry about anything. Being able to just hangout with people and go out on any given night without having to make a valiant effort not to, you know, mangle innocent civilians.

"He's not watching," Liam says to Harry. "He's talking with Niall. It's fine."

Harry lets out a breath of relief. "You have to be careful. Maybe you should take the rest of the day off."

"No way," Liam says. "I'll be fine. I've made it this far without incident, I'll make it the rest of the day."

"I know you will," Harry says, trying to placate him. "I know. Still, just to be sure."

Liam rolls his eyes again and stands up, piling his and Harry's tray together. "I'm going to get some fresh air. I can't sit here and deal with you treating me like I'm five years old. I'll see you in English."

"Liam—,"

"See you in English," he repeats, finality to his tone.

Harry sighs in resignation.

He feels so much better once he's outside. It's raining, but not heavily, and he pulls the hood of his sweater over his head before jogging towards the field. There's a track around it, and he's considered trying out for cross country on more than one occasion, but Liam's not one to do sports. It's not that he can't, in fact he thinks he'd be brilliant at it, he just doesn't like the attention that would be put on him if he started running track, and he doesn't do group activities, so the other sports teams aren't really an option for him.

It's as he's making his second round that he hears someone approaching him. The smell of rain washes everything else out, so he actually has to turn and look to see who it is, and he stops abruptly when he spots Zayn near the bleachers, cigarette dangling from his fingers. It's the first time he's seen Zayn with a cigarette, and he hadn't even realized that he smokes, though he should have, given the way the smell of it clings to him.

He rubs sweat — or rain water, it's hard to tell at this point— off his forehead before he starts running again, this time careful not to go to fast, though his body is begging him to just let go and really show Zayn what he can do. He wonders if Zayn would be surprised, impressed, or if he'd pull a gun out and shoot Liam with it. If it wouldn't make Harry mad at him, he'd do it just to see.

Zayn still looks pissed at him, but he calls out Liam's name softly when he runs by. He slows, turns, and makes his way back over to the bleachers just as Zayn stubs out his cigarette on them.

"You can't smoke on school property, you know," he says conversationally. "You could get suspended, or fined."

Zayn shrugs. "Are you going to tell on me, Liam?"

"No. Just letting you know."

"Thank you," he says sarcastically. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back a bit, looking more than casual despite the intense look in his eyes. "Did I do something to you?" he asks. "Or maybe it was Harry? I don't know. You don't seem to like me very much, and I can't figure out what I did."

The guilt that washes over him at that isn't strong enough to make him apologize, but he does say, "You didn't do anything."

"Okay." Zayn drags the word out, stretching the 'a'. "So then why'd you snap on me this morning for offering you a ride?"

"Because I didn't want one," Liam answers. He scruffs his foot against the ground, giving it more attention than it deserves because staring at the cement is better than looking at Zayn. "But thanks for the offer, I guess."

"Are you okay?" Zayn asks, and he sounds genuinely concerned. "You look off today. Maybe you should see the nurse."

"I'm fine," Liam replies, wondering how many times he's going to have to say that before people start believing him. "I was running. I'm just worn out, that's all. Push myself a little too far sometimes, you know how it is."

"Not really," Zayn retorts. His lips quirk up. "I try not to exert myself unless it's absolutely necessary. My parents think I'm lazy. I'm just protesting unnecessary movement."

"You seem fit enough, though," Liam points out.

It's true. He's thin, sure, but he's seen Zayn's arms in a t-shirt, knows that they're corded with muscle. He bets the rest of him is, too. Maybe not bulky, but still. Strong, lithe, lean. He wonders how Zayn looks naked, wonders if his skin looks that smooth everywhere, wonders how the inside of his thighs feel.

He shakes himself mentally before he can get caught up in those thoughts. He can't risk his eyes changing colour, or his teeth elongating, or anything like that. Not in front of Zayn.

"Yeah, well." Zayn waves a hand. "My parents are sort of into that kind of stuff. Being in shape and shit. I don't really have any choice."

He pulls out another cigarette, lighting it up with a lighter that he pulls out of his dark wash jeans. He has to cup his hand over it to stop the rain from putting it out or soaking through the paper, and the wind keeps the scent of it from drifting towards Liam and causing his nose to wrinkle up.

"Are they like that about a lot of things?" he finds himself asking. "Forcing you into stuff you don't want to do."

Zayn's shoulders lift, fall, and he blows out a cloud of smoke. "Sort of," he admits. "I mean, we're pretty clichéd, you know? Father wants son to join the family business. I've had my future planned out for me since I was born. But— I like it, actually. I don't mind. It's not so bad, and I'm good at it."

"Really," Liam lets out. It sounds strangled and he pokes at his teeth with his hands. They're not sharp, thankfully, but he's close to losing it; he knows he is.

Zayn  _likes_  it. He likes hunting people. Maybe likes killing them. People like Liam. That makes him sick to his stomach, makes all of Zayn's pretty features seem too sharp, too dangerous. Suddenly he's not so attractive, in Liam's mind. Except he still is, no matter how much he wishes that weren't true. Now it's in a different way, though. In a way he doesn't like.

"I have to go," Liam mutters. "Nice talking to you, Zayn."

The wind carries away Zayn's reply, but Liam doesn't really mind.

 

—

 

He tells his mum he's staying at Harry's for the night. She doesn't question it, seems more than a little happy that Liam's finally making friends, and she adores Harry. Not that it's a lie, really. He's not staying at Harry's house, technically, but he's still staying with him. Just at the clinic, in the basement, in the small room that locks from the outside.

The room had terrified him at first. Had seemed barbaric, like a cage. And it is, actually. It's a cage, but it's one that Liam willingly steps into a little after eight, when that itching under his skin feels worse and he's snapping at literally everything Harry says, from "How're you feeling?" to, "I saw you talking to Zayn today," and even, "Do you want any salad?" at dinner. Liam is, in every sense of the word, dangerous tonight. Harry's dad said it would be a while before he learned to control himself at the full moon. Until he finds an anchor, something to hold on to, to keep him  _him_ , he's not safe to run free on days like this.

Liam really doesn't get what that means. An anchor? Like, for a boat? But Harry's dad says he'll know when it happens. When he can think of something, or someone, when he loses himself, and it brings him back. Until then, the small room with the brick wall and the two feet thick metal door is necessary, as are the chains that Harry's dad regretfully hooks up to his wrists and ankles.

"I can't do it," Harry tells him. "I can't lock you up like that."

That's just how Harry is. He'll help Liam all he can, but Harry is the type of person who would take in a baby bird with a broken leg and nurse it back to health, and then teach it how to do the Macarena. There's not a cruel bone in his body. He's not capable of doing anything that could hurt someone else, and while he's aware that this is necessary, that this is going to  _help_ , locking Liam up, he just can't force himself to do it.

"Moon should be setting in the sky any minute now," Harry's dad says, checking his watch. He snaps the last manacle onto Liam's wrist and gives him a soft smile. "You're okay? They're not too tight?"

Liam tugs on them with all his strength. The metal bites painfully into his skin, but as long as he's not pulling, he'll be fine. Plus, if he  _does_  pull at them, whatever injuries he get will be healed by the time he wakes up tomorrow anyways.

"I'm good," he says. "Thank you."

Harry hugs him and says, "I'll be just upstairs the whole time. If— if you end up not needing this, just call. I'll let you out."

His dad gives him a look that says he will  _not_  be letting Liam out, under any circumstances. Liam nods his agreement. "I'd rather you not, even if I seem okay. Just in case."

"Okay," Harry says with a sigh. "Still. I'll be here when you wake up, and we'll get you out of those things straight away."

"Just  _go_ ," Liam says, exasperated. "Honestly."

Harry sticks his tongue out. "I don't like full moon Liam. He's a prick."

"Full moon Liam doesn't like you much, either," Liam admits. "He'd like to attack you, though, so maybe you should just go."

They do, a moment later. The door slides heavily into place, the sound of a lock being turn echoing through the room not long after. It's quiet after that. The brick walls do little to retain sound, and they're a plain, boring gray colour that does nothing to distract Liam of the energy thrumming in his veins.

He tugs at the shackles again, just testing them, maybe because the sharp pain is a sort of pleasant contrast to how dull everything else is, or feels. He hums to himself to pass the time, but eventually he gets annoyed when he can't remember the exact words to the song he's singing.

The walls are thick but they're not sound proof, and he can hear them moving around upstairs. He can hear things outside, too, somehow. His senses feel like they're on overdrive. A car drives past, music playing loudly. Another, this one with a family inside, if the arguing of children is any indication. He wonders how much time has passed, figures it's been about, oh, fifteen minutes, and then he groans to himself and leans his head back against the wall.

 

—

 

_Blood drips down his arms, and he can feel the cuts there from the shackles, deep enough that metal is grinding on bone. His teeth tear through his bottom lip, and the sounds that echo through the room are anything but human. He's anything but human._

_He hears it, in the distance. There's a howling, loud and low pitched. Calling to him, is what it's doing. It's calling to him, and his whole body is fighting to obey, to come to the person making that sound, but he_ can't _. He tries, oh, he tries, but he's stuck. Locked up. He allowed them to lock him up because he's so stupid._

_Blood. It's all he can smell, all he can taste, all he can see. Red, metallic blood. And there's pain, too, but not from his wrists or ankles. No, it's inside him, tearing him apart with the desperate need to get out and follow the voice calling to him. He needs to. He has to. It's not a conscious choice, it's an order._

_This time the howl that rips through the air is his own. The other one stops for a minute, but the next time it sounds, it's much closer. Upstairs, he can hear two hears beating. Can almost smell them through the blood. That's not important, though. What's important is letting them know where Liam is. Letting them know how to find him, how to get him out of here._

_And they do. Liam doesn't recognize the face, doesn't even try to. Instead he shakes the shackles until they're gone, he's free, and then they're running. He doesn't know where they're going, not until he sees a house in the distance. He knows, vaguely, that he's not consciously doing this. That his thoughts and his actions are not his own, that they're controlled by someone else, but he doesn't care._

_There's a shout of warning, and he turns, ready to attack. He can't see any faces in the haze of blood red, but he can smell it. The smell of cigarettes that lingers in the air, and then soap, underneath that. It's dizzying, distracting, and it makes him hesitate, though his body is begging to move, begging to tear flesh from bone._

_Pain erupts in his leg, just above his knee. He stumbles, howling in pain, but he can't find his companion anymore. He doesn't know where they went, but he's obviously alone. Not fully, of course. There's still the one that shot him, fumbling with the bow in his hands, his terror palpable in the air. He's moving to take him out, moving in to take the kill, but at the last second the wind lifts that scent to him again, and the fog in his mind fades enough for him to turn and run. He doesn't stop. He just keeps running, until nothing is familiar; the scents, the scenery. When he stops, he curls up under a tall tree, rests his head on the soft packed dirt and sleeps._

* * *

 

**Zayn**

"That wasn't the one we're looking for," his father says.

They're in the basement, the lights on far too bright. His hands are still sweating, his heart is still pounding. Each breath is sharp and quick, and he feels more than a little light headed. He was just  _training_ , for Christ sake. They never thought there'd be an attack, and if there  _was_  one on the house, it shouldn't have been on the full moon. That's too risky. There's too many variables. They can't control themselves on nights like tonight. There's no organization, no rational thinking.

He'd been out back, shooting his bow, and he'd heard the howl. It pierced the air, loud and impossible to miss. Nothing sounds like the howling of a werewolf. Nothing. It chills you, it makes your heart thud in its chest. It's not something you get used to.

He'd run inside immediately, bow raised just in case, and then his father had stopped only long enough to tell his mum to give Clark a call, and then they were out of the house. The last thing he'd seen before the door closed was his mother, phone in one hand, loaded shotgun in the other.

It wasn't that they'd gotten separated. They'd split up to cover more ground. Wherever that howl had come from, it'd been close to the house. Too close to be a coincidence. The 'wolves knew they were there, and they were coming to deal with that threat.

Were _wolves_. Plural. More than one. He'd seen them both, too. The bigger one, more beast than human, red eyes and  _huge_ , impossibly huge, had run off in the other direction. But the other one, smaller, some semblance of human features, had went after Zayn. It's not the first time he's come face to face with one of them, and it won't be the last. But— but something was off about this one. There'd been something blank and wrong in its eyes. It didn't look bloodthirsty and out of its mind in the right way. It was almost like a soldier, commanded to take out a target. It didn't have a choice, is what it looked like.

And he'd shot it. In the leg, sure, but that's what he was taught. Take out the legs and it can't run at you until it's pulled the arrow out. Except it had just kept coming, and his hands had been shaking too much to get a proper shot again, and then — and then it had ran. In the blink of an eye, it was gone.

"Can they do that?" Zayn questions. He's not alone with his father in the room. Clark is leaning against the wall, taking it all in, and Niall's looking around the room, examining the maps and artillery. His mother is rubbing calming circles against his fathers back, but there's a look in her eyes. A cold one, sharp, terrifying in a way that his father can never accomplish. "Can an alpha control the betas? Make them do things?"

It's Niall who answers him, surprisingly enough. The others are looking confused, trying to sort out the question, but Niall's got a firm look on his face. "They can," he says. "I've read about it. It's not so much mind control as compelling. It doesn't work right when they're in their human forms, but— when they're changed, especially on the full moon, an alpha can control one of his betas, if he's the one who bit them."

"I think that's what was happening," Zayn says. "He didn't— he didn't seem like he wanted to do it. It was like watching a puppet's strings get pulled. Something was off."

His father shakes his head, but it's his mother who says, "It doesn't matter whether he was willingly coming after you. This attack can't be excused." She turns to his father. "I don't care what the code says about the under age ones. I want that beast taken care of, do you understand me? They attacked the house, our family, and I want it's head mounted on my wall."

He can't help but wincing at that. He agrees, though. It's too dangerous not to take them both out. They're too bold, too dangerous. It's a necessity, even if it's not a nice one. Even if the thing hadn't been much bigger than Zayn, couldn't be much older, if it was at all.

"We've got to leave it up to the boys," Clark says, speaking for the first time. Everyone turns to him, looks varying from confusion to disbelief. "Your boy says it was young. It's got to go to their school. They're the only ones who can figure it out. We can't be caught sniffing around the school, people would talk. We let them do it, and we find the beta, and we get it to talk, bargain with it, offer to spare its life if it gives up the alpha, and then we kill them both."

Niall's gaze is on the ground, and he's chewing his lip, jaw clenched. Zayn, on the other hand, nods. He can guess what Niall's going through. This guy could be someone he knows, someone he's grown up with. It's hard to do what needs to be done when the devil is someone you know, but Zayn doesn't have that issue. He has no attachment to anyone here.

"I'll do it," he says. "If you need me to. I'll figure out who he is."

His mother changes her mind instantly. "No," she says. "No. It's not safe. I won't have you— you're too young to be—  _no_."

"He can do it, Tricia," his father says quietly. He looks at Zayn, nodding his head only once. "You do what needs to be done. You have until the next full moon. Any later and we step in. If drastic measures have to be taken, they will, but I'd rather do this as quickly and quietly as we possibly can."

"Until then," Clark starts, pushing away from the wall, "I'm going to have another chat with Styles. If anyone's aiding those  _things_ , it's that freak."

Both he and Niall look up sharply at that. "Styles?" Niall asks. "You really think they're working with the 'wolves again?"

"It's what they do," his father answers. "They don't understand, never have. And while they won't get in our way, they're not above helping those things, even if they're dangerous, murderous, rabid animals. I think you're right, Clark, we best give him a visit."

"You boys go upstairs," his mother orders. "There's food in the fridge. Warm something up and then get to bed. Niall, you can have the couch, if you like, or you can both sleep in Zayn's room."

"Thanks, Mrs. M," Niall says, grinning cheerfully at her in a way that only Niall could manage in this situation.

As soon as they get to the top of the stairs, door closing behind them, Niall shoves him hard enough that his shoulder knocks painfully into the wall. He winces, tensing, and takes on a defensive stance.

"What the fuck was that for?" he demands when Niall keeps walking past him, heading for the kitchen.

"What was that for?" Niall demands. "What the fuck do you  _think_  it was for? Volunteering us to take out one of our fucking classmates? Are you serious?"

Zayn gapes at him, jogging to keep up. Niall pulls open the fridge like he lives with them, like he's done it a hundred times. He pulls a foil wrapped plate out of the fridge, revealing leftover chicken from dinner. He eats it like that, cold and with his fingers while glaring at Zayn.

"Of course I am," Zayn says. "It has to be done, Niall."

"Did he hurt you?" Niall asks. "Did he even  _touch_  you? No. You're fine and we're going to be responsible for the death of him now. How can you just accept that without putting up a fight? Without even realizing how fucked up that is?"

Zayn bristles. He leans against the table, eyes narrowed. "I told you; it needs to be done. It's not always pleasant, Niall, but that's how it is. You can't let those things live. It doesn't matter if you know them. They're not  _human_. Not anymore."

"Right," Niall says with his mouth full. He rolls his eyes at Zayn and says, "They really brainwashed you, didn't they? Do you have any original thoughts, or are you programmed like a robot?"

"Fuck you," Zayn spits. "Fuck you to hell, Horan."

Niall's fierce expression slips from his face. He runs a hand through his air, eying the plate of food without any interest anymore. "It's just not right," he says quietly. He looks up at Zayn with wide eyes. "What if I know him? What if— what if it's Louis, or Josh? What then? Could you really put a bullet through one of their heads? Could you really do that?"

"No," Zayn admits. "I couldn't. But I could watch my dad do it, if it has to be done."

Niall nods. "Yeah, I figured that's what you'd say," he says quietly. "Whatever. There's no point arguing about it. I don't want to fight with you, and it's not like we have a choice, either. They're not going to stop until they're both dead, and it won't matter who it is, not to them."

"Not for us, either," Zayn says with conviction. "Right?"

"Speak for yourself," Niall mutters while covering the chicken again. He pops in back in the fridge and adds, "I'll take the couch, by the way. Just point me in the direction of the linen closet."

He does, leaving Niall to grab a pillow and blanket for himself. He heads up the stairs towards his own room, bypassing Safaa, who's standing in her doorway, a wondering look on her face.

"Did you kill it?" she asks in a soft voice. "Did you get it, Zayn?"

He ignores her, shutting his door as he wonders whether he should be concerned by the fascinated, too pleased tone in her voice.

Sleep alludes him, though. For some reason he can still hear them howling, though he knows that's not real. It's in his head, an echo of earlier. A memory, playing over and over.

Niall isn't like him, her realizes. He wasn't raised the same way. He's only been in this for a few years now, ever since his mum died and he'd been forced to go live with his uncle. He still sees the humanity in them, focuses on that, doesn't realize that the beast will always,  _always_  be stronger than whatever human parts they have left. That they  _have_  to be killed. It's not a vicious, cruel thing to do. It's like putting a hurt animal out of its misery when you know it won't get better. Why let it suffer any longer than it has to?

He falls asleep with a pair of golden eyes painted on the back of his eyelids, always there whenever he blinks his eyes closed.

 

* * *

 

 

**Liam**

He's not in town when he wakes up. He has no idea how he got out last night, can't remember much in general, but this one fact sticks out to him. He'd run, at some point, and he'd run far. Oh, and he lost his shirt. He doesn't know where, or if he'd torn it off himself, even, but his chest is bare. He'd be cold right now, if he were still normal. As it is, the slight breeze is annoying at best.

His pant leg feels stiff with blood, and he figures he cut it at some point while running last night. At least, until he looks down. The arrow sticking out of his thigh has him dry heaving. Nothing comes up but acidic bile, but he still spends the next five minutes extracting all of it from his body, hunched over, spitting into a pile of fallen leaves.

He's got to do something about that. He can't walk with it in there, he learns when he tries to stand up. He managed to run with it in last night, apparently, but he'd been so out of it, so  _not him_  that he hadn't even noticed it, he thinks.

Biting his lip, Liam wraps a hand around the shaft and, eyes squeezed tightly closed, he pulls. He wishes it had gone straight through, that he could just snap it in half and pull it out, only having to slide the thin shaft through his flesh. But no, he's got to pull the arrowhead out.

It hurts. Fuck, it hurts so bad his vision goes white and he throws up, this time everything he'd eaten yesterday coming out. He bleeds, too, so profusely that he wonders if he could actually die from this, but all he has to do is tear off his pant leg to see that his leg is already healing, blood no longer dripping from the wound. He sits there in fascination, pain still throbbing in his leg but more bearable, and watches the gaping wound in his leg stitch together. He should be examined, he thinks. Maybe he should hand himself over to science, let them poke and prod at him. Maybe they could find a cure to cancer using his DNA or something.

Except the government would probably just kill him, he rationalizes, and he hates getting shots anyways. Plus, Harry would probably be a little upset about it.

Harry…. "Fuck," he hisses. Harry is going to kill him. Or maybe — maybe he already killed Harry.

If he hadn't thrown up everything already, it would surely come up at the thought of that. He thinks back to last night, tries to remove the film that covers his memories, making them hazy. Had he hurt anyone? Had he attacked anyone?

He looks at his nails. The only blood on his hands is his own, he thinks, but who knows. He could have stopped to clean them, right? Okay, no, he wouldn't have been capable of that last night. His breathing gets easier when he figures out that he hadn't ripped out anyone's jugular last night, but— his claws aren't the only deadly part of him. He could have bitten someone. He could have given them this disease that he's been cursed with. Or he could have killed them. He figures he could bite through solid metal; someone's throat would be so, so easy.

But no, he can't think like that. He just— he needs to get back to Harry. Figure out what happened. Harry can help, he tells himself. This will be fine. They can prevent this from happening next time, and it'll all be fine.

 

—

 

It takes him two hours to walk back to the vet clinic. He doesn't have it in him to run, and he can't take the streets because, after ripping his pants to get the arrow out, he's pretty much dressed in nothing but his boxers, and they're a bloody mess, too.

The clinic looks fine, at least. The door hasn't been torn off the hinges, blood isn't scattered anywhere. The open sign is flipped over to closed, and he'd guess that it was too early to be open if the sun wasn't so high in the sky.

The door is unlocked, though. He pushes it open, taking a hesitant step inside. "Harry?" he calls, praying that he doesn't find his best friend's dead, mangled body on the floor.

"Oh, thank God," Harry says, coming out of one of the rooms. He rushes Liam, thin arms encircling him instantly. When he pulls back, there's tears in Harry's eyes. He shakes his head, curls swinging wildly, and says, voice cracking, "I was so worried, and— and you— I don't know how you got out, Liam. You shouldn't have been able to get out."

"I didn't," Liam says softly. "I — I mean, I couldn't. I tried, but— someone broke me out, Harry. Someone let me out."

Harry gapes at him. "That's not possible," he says. "No, Liam—,"

"I swear," he says. "Someone let me out of there, and they— I need to talk to your dad, I can't explain it. I can't  _remember_  properly. Can you just get him for me?"

The worried look slips from Harry's face, replaced immediately by something stony and annoyed. "He's a little busy with a visitor right now," he says. "You're going to have to give him a minute."

Liam's mind jumps to several possibilities, but the most likely one is that the hunters have come to give  _him_  a visit this time. Except, no. He sucks in a breath, and he picks up something woodsy hanging in the air. Maybe it's instincts, or maybe it's Harry's training, but he knows, right away, that he's not the only werewolf in the then Louis is practically running from one of the rooms. The smell of blood clings to him, too, but it's overpowered by that smell of woods that seems to block out everything else. "You're  _insane_ ," he shouts. "You're— you're all fucking  _crazy_. I'm — my— my parents will hear about this. I hope you both enjoy your stay in the mental institution, because you're fucking—,"

"Liam," Harry's father says calmly as Louis makes a beeline for the door. "I hate to ask this of you, but could you deal with that, please?"

He looks at Harry before moving, and he gets a curt nod in response. The next second he's in front of the door, blocking the exit. Louis stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide. It's his hip. The bite went right through his shirt, and it stained his side red with blood. He has a feeling that, if he lifted up Louis' shirt, the skin underneath would be nearly completely healed, the wound looking days old if not completely faded altogether.

"Move, Liam," he hisses, but there's little threat in his voice. His blue eyes are wide and panicked, and his hands are shaking. " _Move_."

Instead, Liam takes a calming, centering breath, and then he lets go, for just a second. Not completely, he keeps control, but he feels his features shift, feels his teeth elongate and his nails thicken and grow into points. The room goes red for a second before he blinks again, knowing that his eyes had, for just a moment, went from brown to a yellowish gold.

Louis screams. The sound pierces his ears, this close up, and he winces. Louis, on the other hand, scrambles backwards, knocking into Harry who catches him easily.

The next fifteen minutes are pretty chaotic. Louis panics impressively, Harry stays stoic and silent and his father calmly tries to explain things. Liam tunes it out, leaning against the wall. Louis shoots him glances every few seconds, like he's afraid Liam's going to attack him. Liam thinks that maybe he already had.

The rest of the morning is like replaying a memory in his mind, only Louis is playing his part. He remembers how it felt, hearing these things. How he'd went from thinking Harry and his dad were insane to thinking  _he_  had gone insane. And then eventually there was the acceptance, but that had taken days, really. With Louis, it's a little easier. They have Liam right there to give him a little shock of reality if he has to. It's good practise for him, at least. Good to test how well he can let the other side of him take center stage for a few seconds before turning it back off. The more he does it, the longer it takes to get back to himself, though.

He and Harry are kicked out of the room when Louis starts crying, but Liam's grateful for the excuse to avoid watching that.

"Did I do that?" he asks when they're out of the room. "I can't remember. Was— was I the one who bit him?"

"No," Harry says. He sits on one of the visitors chairs, and Liam collapses into the one next to him. He's never felt so exhausted in his life. "You can't. The bite has to come from an alpha or it won't take. That's just how it works. Even if you had bit him, nothing would have happened. But— whoever did that, it was the same on who bit you, I think."

"What's going to happen to him now?" he asks, voice barely over a whisper.

"Same as what happened to you," Harry says softly. "We're going to have to help him get accustomed to this, make sure he doesn't draw attention to himself, or you."

"So he's going to change, then," Liam says.

Harry nods. "Unless something goes wrong." At Liam's confused look, he explains. "He could die. It happens. The body rejects the change. It's not common but it's a possibility."

Liam swallows thickly. "Right."

Eventually Louis and Harry's dad come out of the room. Louis keeps a wide birth of Liam as he makes his way towards the door, and this time no one stops him. When he's gone, Harry's dad sits on his stool and folds his hands on the desk in front of him.

"Do you remember any of last night?" he asks.

Liam shakes his head. "Fragments," he answers. "The harder I think about it, the more I remember. It's all hazy, though."

"Someone broke him out," Harry adds.

The only change in his father's expression is a slight widening of his eyes. "Yes, we should have known," he says, nodding slowly. "I thought I heard it calling to you, but I wasn't sure." He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Did you attack anyone?"

"I don't think so," Liam says. He frowns, face scrunching in concentration.

Dread fills him when all he can remember is the smell of cigarettes and floral soap. "I went after him," he says slowly. "Zayn. I went after him. He— he shot me. I didn't want to. I didn't have a choice. I couldn't stop. I couldn't control myself. It wasn't like normal. It wasn't— it wasn't the other part of me, it was someone else. Someone was making me go after them. I don't even know where he lives, but somehow I found his house."

This gets more of a reaction than his last admission. Harry breathes out a horrified "Shit," and his father covers his face with his hands. He looks as exhausted as Liam feels when looks up.

"That won't be good," he says. "They'll know, now. They'll start looking at the students, trying to figure out which one of you is the beta. And the alpha is trying to control you. Any time you change, he could do so. It's a difficult thing to do, and most alphas don't bother. They don't like to take the free will of their pack. But this one has an agenda, I think. And he's using you to act it out."

"So it really wasn't me?" Liam asks. "I didn't— I didn't want to kill him?"

"I'm not entirely sure how you managed  _not_  to, actually," Harry's father admits. "You shouldn't have been able to stop, not if he wanted you to kill the boy. Do you have any idea how you managed it?"

"No." He shakes his head. "I just — I remember realizing it was him, and then I ran. I just kept running."

"But he shot you first."

"Yeah," Liam admits. "I had to, um, pull it out. The arrow."

"And there hasn't been any complications with the healing?"

Liam looks down at his leg. It's smooth, not even a scar left to show for the injury. "It's fine."

"Good, good." Harry's father sighs and licks his lips. "They're going to be gunning for you now. If you went that close to their property, they'll feel threatened. They'll feel as if they don't have a choice. I could try talking to them, explaining the situation, but I doubt it'd help any, and it would only confirm their suspicions that we're aiding you, and that the beta that attacked them attends the school. That'll make it easier for them to figure out who you are, and it would put us in danger. They aren't against using force to get information. We might be human, but in their eyes, we're nearly as bad as you are."

"So what do we do?" Liam hesitates to ask. He's not sure he's going to like the answer.

"We wait it out," is the reply he gets. "Pray that they catch the alpha. Regretfully, they'll have to kill him. He's dangerous. Like we've told you, sometimes it does happen. Werewolves go rogue, start killing or biting people seemingly at random."

"And what about Louis? Do we tell him?"

"Louis," he says carefully, "will have to be watched and taken care of, yes. You're both going to have to make sure that he doesn't draw attention to himself, and Harry, you're going to have to help him the way you've been helping Liam."

Harry groans at this. "Can't we just let the hunters kill him?" he asks.

Liam laughs; Harry's dad doesn't. "No, we cannot."

"I know," Harry mutters. "He's just such a  _dick_."

"Yes, well, that  _dick_  is now your responsibility. Now, both of you, get home. You need sleep, and Liam, you need a shower and a change of clothes before you can go home. If either of you need me, I'll be here, trying to come up with a solution to this problem that involves the least amount of bloodshed."

Both boys nod and get up. They pile into Harry's truck in silence, too busy thinking to talk. Harry's got an arm around his shoulder the whole ride, though, and Liam ends up nodding off, head nearly falling into Harry's lap.

 

—

 

"How much facial hair are we talking?" Louis asks at lunch on Monday.

Liam's still trying to understand how this is his life. Sure, the werewolf part is a little hard to swallow, but this? This is just impossible. Louis Tomlinson, willingly sitting with them at lunch as the rest of his friends eye them from the other side of the cafeteria.

Weirdly enough, after the initial shock and horror wore off, Louis sort of… took to the idea of being a supernatural creature. It should be surprising, it really should, but it's not. Louis' always been kind of unhinged, in Liam's mind. But, unlike Liam, he's  _enjoying_  this. He doesn't look at it like a bad thing. In fact, he thinks it's  _cool_.

"Depends," Harry says, a flush in his cheeks that's been there since Louis had dropped his tray beside Liam's and sat himself down at their table, addressing Harry with his full attention without insulting him or making fun of him, which hasn't happened since they were about eight years old. "Like, it could be a lot. And we're not talking just a beard or a moustache or anything. We're talking sideburns that rival Sam Winchester—,"

"Who?" Louis asks.

Harry gives Liam a look, as if to say,  _is he serious right now?_  Liam just shakes his head in amusement. As weird and crazy and uncomfortable as this whole thing in, he's grateful for Louis' presence. It takes his mind off everything, like the memories of that night that he still can't access, and from thinking too hard about Zayn, just across the cafeteria, that intoxicating scent of his discernable, even from this distance. He wonders why it's not like that with everyone else. Why he stands out so sharply, but Liam decides that he'd rather not know.

"Never mind," Harry tells him. "But your eyebrows could get really bushy, and your arms and your back—,"

"Ew," Louis says, nose wrinkling up. "I will not have a hairy back. No."

"You can't help it," Harry says. "Just ask Liam. He doesn't even get eyebrows. They, like, retract into his forehead and he looks like an alien. It's hilarious."

"Show me," Louis demands. "I want to see this hilarious, browless wolf face of yours."

"I can't just do it in school," Liam says with a shake of his head. "Honestly, Louis, we told you—,"

"Right, right, people will freak out, other people will try to kill us. God, you two are so fucking boring." He carves a drawing of a stick figure into the metal table, the scraping of his claws against it loud, even by normal standards.

"How did you do that?" Harry asks, sounding almost awed.

"What?" Louis asks. He flexes his fingers, claws extending and retracting with ease. "That?"

"Don't," Harry hisses, grabbing his hand. "Are you stupid? But— you can't do that. You shouldn't be able to. It took Liam about two weeks to learn how to control it like that."

"Obviously I'm a far better werewolf than Liam Payne," Louis says offhandedly. "Unsurprisingly. I don't know how you missed this, but I'm sort of perfect at everything. You should stop looking so surprised when I do something amazing, or your face will get stuck like that. "

Liam can literally hear Harry's teeth grinding to hold back a reply to that. He grins in amusement, knowing this is Harry's own personal slice of hell, sitting at this table with Louis Tomlinson of all people and having absolutely no choice but to allow it.

"Do I ever go full on wolf, though?" Louis asks. "Like, do I get a tail and everything?"

Harry sighs deeply. "No, you won't. You're a beta. An alpha could, but it's not, like, an active decision. Your form could change depending on what kind of person you are. Some alphas are more beast than human, and their alpha form reflects that."

Louis nods, taking that in, and then he's asking another question, as he's been doing since lunch started twenty minutes ago. "Can I see through clothes?" he wonders, and his eyes flash an alarming, blinding blue. Liam slaps his arm for it. "Oh,  _alright_. Jeez. What's the point of being a cool supernatural creature if I can't have fun with it?"

"Yeah, it'll be really fun when one of your classmates puts a bullet in your fucking skull," Harry spits. "Or maybe we should let him, Liam. If he wants to show off, let's see how long he lasts. I could care less. In fact, it'd be a good thing for us. They'd assume Louis' the only beta, they'd kill him, it'd throw them off your track, you'd be fine, I'd never have to see his face —,"

"Harry," Liam warms, sensing the tension in Louis. He watches Louis' nails extend to claws again, and his eyes are flashing dangerously, but he's not doing it on purpose this time.

And Harry's still talking, going on and on, and Louis' teeth are turning into fangs, and the slight stubble on his jaw is replaced by thicker, coarser hair, and—,

" _Stop_ ," Liam growls.

Louis stops immediately, sitting up a little straighter, head bowed. Liam blinks in surprise, taking in the resigned set to Louis' shoulders, like he was only listening to Liam because he had to.

"That was freaky," Harry says, breaking the silence. He frowns at Liam. "You're voice got all— like, weird."

"I didn't mean to," Liam says defensively. "It was an accident."

Harry keeps giving him a confused look, but he doesn't elaborate on it. Louis sighs and eats his lunch, staying quiet until it looks like he's going to burst, and then he asks, "Am I going to have to sit with you two forever? My reputation really can't handle that."

"Tell them you need a tutor," Harry suggests.

Louis' face contorts in anger at that, but it's not a  _wolf_  look, it's just an annoyed Louis look. "I'm the top of all of our classes," he says. "Do you realize that? There's no way in hell I would ever need a tutor."

"Fine, then tell them Liam needs a tutor, and you're helping him out of the goodness of your heart."

"Why do I have to be the one who needs a tutor?" Liam demands.

"Because," both Louis and Harry says, at the exact same time, which makes Louis snort and Harry say, "Jinx."

The rest of lunch is like that. Harry and Louis bicker, Liam tries his best to stop their fighting, Louis keeps asking the weirdest questions about lycanthropy, and Liam forces himself not to eavesdrop on Niall and Zayn's conversation.

He's never been so grateful to hear the bell before, and he picks up his tray and makes it out of the cafeteria in record time. He's the first one in English, and he reclaims his own seat, the one in the corner at the back. He waits for Harry to get there, but then he realizes that Harry's probably still at the table, arguing with Louis. Before Harry can take the seat next to him, someone else does.

Zayn doesn't look at him. Instead he makes big production of pulling out his books and neatly organizing them on his desk, making sure they line up perfectly and his pen lays flat beside them, not rolling off the edge. Then he clasps his hands together on top of his desk and sits there, staring up at the front of the room.

Why would he sit next to Liam and pointedly ignore him? Actually, why would he sit beside Liam at all? That's Harry's spot. He's had to of picked that up in the last week. There's no way he hasn't. And when Harry walks into the room, he stumbles and stares at Zayn with wide eyes, and then sits in the seat in front of Liam because he has no other choice.

Trying not to care, Liam scribbles aimlessly on a piece of paper, not really doing anything but wasting ink. His teacher talks, goes on about a new project they're going to have to do, but it isn't until she says "You'll each be split into groups of two," and then she starts splitting them up, pairing everyone with the person beside them, that he starts paying attention. Liam tenses, eyes wide, and she calls out "Liam, you're with Zayn," and then continues without pausing while Liam makes a panicked sound.

"Don't look so thrilled," Zayn sneers, tapping his pen on his desk with annoyance.

Liam focuses on slowing his breathing before he replies. "It's not— it's not you. It's just that I usually work with Harry."

That's not true, actually. He and Harry have never done a project together. It sounds like a plausible lie, though, and Zayn apparently buys it, too, because his expression softens considerably.

"Oh," he says quietly. "Right. Sorry." He smiles faintly at Liam. "Do you want to come over to mine after school to work on it?"

"To work on what?" Liam asks. Harry bursts out with a loud laugh that he has to cover his mouth to silence.

"The project," Zayn says patiently. "Were you paying attention to anything she said?"

"Not really," he admits. "What are we supposed to do?"

"We're both supposed to write down the name of the last book we've read, and then we write an alternate ending to one of them, and a detailed essay on the other." His smiles gets more confident. "So do you want to come over to my place after school and get started? We've got until Friday, but it's probably best to start working on it tonight."

He hears Harry's 'no' whispered under his breath, followed by a soft "Tell him you're busy," that's too quiet for anyone but Liam to pick up on. He knows Harry's got the right idea, knows that it's practically suicide, going over to Zayn's house.

"Okay," he says anyways.

"Cool," Zayn says easily. He leans back in his seat, legs stretched out under his desk, ankles crossed. "I'll give you a ride, if you want. You don't have a car, right?"

"Right."

He doesn't miss Harry's muttered, "Idiot." Zayn looks really pleased by the whole thing, though, and he can't seem to get the words he needs to say out of his mouth. Can't think up a believable excuse. He'll be fine, he rationalizes. It's not like he's going to turn in Zayn's house or anything. He'll be calm and normal, that's all.

Working it out in his mind, it doesn't seem like the worst idea. Still, he avoids Harry for the rest of the day, knowing that he's in for a good chewing out from his best mate.

 

—

 

Zayn's car smells like cigarettes and leftover takeaway. It makes his nose wrinkle, and Zayn's cheeks stain red as he tells Liam, "I never clean it. Sorry. I wasn't expecting someone else to be riding with me."

"Don't worry about it," Liam replies, but he keeps his window rolled down the whole ride.

His house is really nice. Harry's parents have a lot of money, too, but there's something really warm and inviting about the brick house in front of him. There's a garden out front, too, and he wonders if that was there when they moved in, because there's no way they've had time to grow all those plants themselves.

"So, um," Zayn starts, but he pauses to lick his lips before continuing with, "Just to warn you, I have two sisters. They might not be home, but if they  _are_ , just ignore them. And my mum, too. She's sort of embarrassing."

"What about your dad?" he has to ask.

"Won't be home until later," Zayn answers. He pulls the keys out of the ignition and pushes open his door. Liam hesitates, and he must realize this, because Zayn stops and gives him a consoling look. "Just smile and nod and you'll be fine."

He does just that, and Zayn's laugh is bright and lovely.

The whole house smells like tomatoes and spices. He figures there's spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, but he doesn't get to find out because Zayn is leading him up a set of stairs after they kick off their shoes. He turns and pushes open one of the doors on the left, and Liam sort of just stands in the doorway.

"I, uh, haven't had time to unpack," Zayn says quickly. He flits around the room, pushing boxes into the closet.

It's not the boxes that had him surprised. The room is so impersonal that it shocked him. There's furniture, sure, but it's pretty bare aside from that and the small book on the nightstand. There's no desk, either, and Zayn throws his bag onto the bed before climbing on it and patting the spot next to him.

"Or we can work on the floor," he offers. "Whatever you're more comfortable with."

Liam shuts the door before moving towards the bed. He leaves his own bag on the floor as he sits perched on the edge, as far from Zayn as he can manage. His heart is kind of thundering in his chest, but he's pretty sure he can hear Zayn's racing, too.

"Right," Zayn says after a moment. He leans forward to snatch the book off the nightstand and then drops it between them. "That's the last book I read.  _Looking for Alaska_  by John Green. It's really good. Sort of sad at parts, makes you think, but it's also laugh out loud funny. What about you?"

Liam's eyes go out of focus as he tries to think. He doesn't read, really. "The second Harry Potter book, I think," he says finally.

"The second Harry Potter book," Zayn repeats. "That's a little random."

Now Liam's the one who flushes red. "I was trying to read the whole series, because my sister Ruth is really into them, but, uh, I never finished."

Zayn gapes at him. "How do you only read the first two? Don't you want to know what happens?"

"I've watched the movies," Liam points out. "I know what happens."

"That is so not the same," Zayn argues, a bright look in his eyes. "The movies are like— they're like a summary. They tell the story, sure, but they skip the smaller details, some of the best parts. And don't even talk to me about the sixth movie because that was a fucking joke."

"It was?"

"Definitely," Zayn says. "They left out so many important plot points that set up the next book, like Fleur and Bill dating, and then the whole part where Bill gets attacked by Fenrir, and there was hardly  _any_  Lupin and Tonks, which is probably the best romantic subplot of the series, and—," he cuts off, looking embarrassed. "Sorry."

"It's fine." He's not lying, either. "I like watching you talk about things you like. You get really excited about it."

Zayn's gaze drops to his book and he says quietly, "We should start working on this."

"Do I need to read that?" he asks warily.

"You probably should," Zayn says with a laugh. He tosses the book aside. "You can take that one home and start it tonight. We'll work on yours instead. I think we should write the essay on the Harry Potter book, and we should write the alternate ending to mine."

Liam nods, fully content to let Zayn take the role of leader on this. He gets up at one point and leaves the room, and when he comes back he's got another book in his hand, this time one that Liam recognizes.

They get through a quarter of the essay. It's got to be five thousand words long, and Zayn writes it all out by hand instead of using a computer, the way Liam would. At one point the hears people moving around downstairs, but he tries to focus more on their work and the way the room smells like artificial spices, like some kind of cologne he recognizes but can't name. It throws him off completely because Zayn always smells like soap and cigarettes, not cologne.

The door opens without warning. He should have heard the footsteps approaching, should have known someone was coming, but he hadn't, and all they get is a soft knock on the door before Zayn's mum comes in. She looks surprised when she realizes Zayn's not alone, and he and Zayn both jump apart. They'd had their heads ducked together as they reread a certain passage that Zayn had pointed out, and he'd been so busy trying to count each of Zayn's long lashes that the rest of the world had drifted away.

"I was just coming to let you know that dinner was ready," the woman as the door says slowly. "Would your little friend like to stay?"

Liam honestly can't remember the last time someone referred to him as 'little', and he has to pointedly keep a laugh in. Zayn, on the other hand, looks mortified. "No, mum, we're just working on English."

"Nonsense," she says, turning to Liam. "What's your name, sweetie?"

"Liam," he says, sitting up a bit straighter.

"Liam," Zayn's mum repeats. She gives him a blinding smile that's reminiscent of Zayn's, except Zayn's is a bit sharper, never quiet that open and soft. "It's so nice to see Zayn making friends. He's always been sort of a loner, I'm sure you've noticed. We're having spaghetti for dinner, by the way. Would you like to stay?"

He wants to say no, just to get that horrified look off Zayn's face. Plus, eating dinner with a table of hunters is probably a really bad idea. But, just like earlier, when he'd agreed to come over here to work on their project, he finds himself saying, "Okay. I'd like that."

"Lovely!" She claps her hands together. "I'll leave you two alone. It'll be on the table in five minutes, so don't take too long."

When she's gone, Zayn gives him an apologetic look. "You could have said no," he tells Liam. "She wouldn't have minded. You probably should have, actually."

Liam shrugs at him. "I'm sure it'll be nice," he says feebly. "And dinner smells really good."

Zayn sighs and carefully puts away all their papers before getting off the bed. Liam follows him, straightening his clothes first to seem as presentable as possible. He can hear everyone talking downstairs, accompanied by the clanking of dishes. He picks up on a low, male voice, and realizes that Zayn's dad is home.

There's a small table in the kitchen, but there's also a separate dinning room. Zayn leads him into the second one, and he's met with four pairs of eyes on him. There's Zayn's dad, at the head of the table, the same shape to his eyes, the same curve of the nose that he's memorized on Zayn's face. Beside him, to the left, is a younger girl, really young, with long, thick hair and an excited look on her face, and then a slightly older one, her expression more calm but just as interested. And then finally Zayn's mother is looking at him, too, but it's with a far too fond look for someone who just met him five minutes ago.

"This is Liam," she says to the room. "Zayn's  _friend_."

"But Zayn doesn't  _have_  friends, mum," the youngest girl says. The older one laughs at that.

"Well he does now," their mother says.

Liam cuts a look to Zayn, wondering why everyone keeps saying that. Zayn has friends. Zayn sits at the most coveted table in the school. The popular kids have taken him under their wing. He and Niall have practically been attached at the hip. Plus, Zayn just  _looks_  like one of those people. The kind that everyone flocks to. He can't picture Zayn ever having to sit alone or walk through the halls with his head ducked to avoid attention, no one beside him. It just doesn't make sense.

Zayn's doesn't argue with them, though. He just takes a set across from one of his sisters and gestures to the spot next to him for Liam. The spot beside his dad.

Liam swallows and takes it, legs scraping loudly against the hardwood floors. The next ten minutes really aren't that bad. Zayn's mum dishes out dinner, forks scratch against plates, everyone compliments the food, Zayn steals glances at Liam right when his mouth is the fullest, which is embarrassing and makes him chew faster than he normally would, nearly choking when he swallows, but Zayn never speaks.

"So, Liam," Zayn's dad says, the first to speak in a couple minutes. "We haven't heard much about you. Do you two go to school together?"

Liam places his fork on his napkin and clears his throat before saying, "We do. We have English together."

"They were working on a project when I walked in on them," Zayn's mum supplies.

"Walked in on them," Zayn's father repeats, eyebrows raised high.

Zayn coughs, wet and thick, and Liam would slap his back for him if he could move, but apparently embarrassment is paralyzing in high dosages.

"Not like that, dear," Zayn's mum says, looking amused. "They were just working."

"Wouldn't have minded if they weren't," his father says. "It'd be nice to see this one go on a date for once, instead of holing up in his bedroom with those damn books and comics."

The look on Zayn's face is one of a man who wishes the ground beneath his feet would open and swallow him whole. Liam figures he looks the same way.

"We were, um, just working," Liam explains. "On our English. Homework. Assignment. Um."

Both adults laugh at this but Zayn's mum says, "Oh, leave the boys alone, darling."

"Do you like cats?" Zayn's younger sisters asks him abruptly.

Liam flounders at the randomness of the question. "I guess, yeah. I mean, I've never had one, but sure."

"Ignore Safaa," Zayn mutters. "She wants a pet."

"I don't want a  _pet_ ," she argues. "I want a  _cat_. Cats are smart and independent, and they're also agile and sneaky. Like me."

This kid can't be any older than ten, and she's using words like independent and agile. It makes Liam feel like an idiot, to be honest, but it's also sort of a adorable.

"We can't have pets," Zayn's other sister says with a roll of her eyes. "You  _know_  that, Saf."

"We move a lot," Zayn's father explains. "A pet would be a hassle. What about you, Liam? Are you new to town, or have you lived here for a while?"

He takes a sip of his drink first because his throat and tongue feel dry. "My whole life," he answers. "Pretty much, anyways. My grandparents passed when I was young and left my mother the house, and we've lived here ever since then."

"That must be nice," Zayn says under his breath.

"Ah," Zayn's father says. "We move quite a lot, ourselves. It's a job requirement, sadly. I wish we could settle down in one place, let the kids grow up in a single town, but you know how it is."

He doesn't, but he hums and nods anyways. "What do you do?" he finds himself asking, though. He doesn't know why he does, and he sort of wants to slap himself for it.

Zayn tenses beside him, but other than that, no one reacts weirdly. "I'm a wildlife conserver," is the answer he gets, which catches him off guard. "I go to different towns, usually if there's been a certain number of animal attacks, just to figure out what has the wildlife aggressing people and to make sure that their habitats aren't being disturbed."

"That sounds interesting," Liam says, but he thinks  _that sounds like a load of bullshit_.

The rest of the dinner is spent with Liam being asked a few personal questions, like what he wants to do when he graduates, if he plans on going to university, if he has any siblings. Zayn barely opens his mouth the whole time, but at one point a hand grips his thigh tightly, and he squeezes just a bit, like he's trying to assure Liam that he's still there, that he's not alone in this, even though it sort of feels like Zayn threw him to the wolves, and the irony of that thought is not lost on him.

Zayn's mum offers him dessert, but Zayn is already out of his seat. "I'm going to give Liam a ride home," he says quickly. "His mum has him on a strict curfew. He's not allowed out after seven."

No one questions that, or asks why a seventeen year old would have such an early curfew. Liam goes along with it, politely thanking them for dinner. Zayn's mum tells him he's welcome at any time, and Liam smiles and thanks her again.

When they're outside, Zayn relaxes for the first time in almost an hour.

"I'm sorry," he says as they make their way to the car. "They're not used to me bringing anyone home. I think they got a little excited."

"Your mum's really nice," Liam replies. It seems like the safest thing to say.

He slides into the passenger seat of Zayn's car for the second time, noting the fact that the moon is already high in the quickly darkening sky. This used to be his favourite time of day. When the sky is still blue, not yet black, but the stars are already bright and discernable, though the sun still streaks the horizon with golds and oranges.

Liam rattles off his address and directions, since Zayn probably doesn't know the streets by name yet. Zayn turns the music up, too, probably to stop them from having to talk. When he pulls up in front of Liam's house, he turns it off.

"Thanks for having me over," Liam says awkwardly. He doesn't really do things like this, so he has no idea what he's supposed to say.

"Thanks for putting up with my family," Zayn counters.

"They weren't that bad," Liam tells him.

It's the truth, too, as surprising as that is. They'd seemed so normal, not at all like the sadistic, crazy people he'd imagined from what Harry had told him about hunters. In fact, it was almost possible to convince himself that they  _weren't_ , that Harry had the wrong family. Except he can still remember the way that arrow felt lodged in his leg.

"Do you want to go to the library tomorrow instead?" Zayn asks him. "To avoid that."

"Or we could work at my house," he suggests. "My mum works late on Tuesdays. It'd be just us."

Why that sounds like a suggestion to do more than just homework, he has no idea, but it  _does_ , and Zayn seems to think so, too, because his cheeks turn that pleasant pink again. Liam never would have took him for the blushing type, but he's done so often tonight. It makes Liam feel less on guard. Makes him feel like they're equal, almost, or something.

"Okay," Zayn agrees. He nods, more to himself than Liam. "Do you — do you think I could pick you up tomorrow? For school? Unless you get a ride with Harry."

"No, that's— that sounds good," Liam gets out, and now he's nodding, too, and they're both just fucking nodding at each other, equally awkward.

And then Zayn leans forward and kisses him. It's brief, soft, a little off centered and Zayn's pulling back before he can even blink. If it weren't for the lingering taste of his lips on Liam's mouth, they could almost pretend that it never happened.

"I'm sorry," Zayn gasps, eyes wide. "Fuck, I wasn't— I just crossed a major line, right? I wasn't even thinking. Your lips just looked, and I—,"

Liam moves forward and kisses him this time. He lingers a little longer, enjoying the way Zayn's breathing catches and his fingers curl against Liam's forearm. He pulls back before they can go any farther, before he can press his tongue against Zayn's lips and see if they part. See if he tastes like cigarettes, too, or something else.

"I have to go," Liam says abruptly. He pushes open his door and chances one last look back at Zayn before practically running to the house.

He doesn't look back again, and when he pulls open his front door he hurries inside and shuts it tightly, flicking the lock for good measure. And then he leans against it, letting the wood support his weight as his legs go wobbly and his shallow breathing makes him light-headed.

It's not surprising, the fact that his claws are digging into his palms. He uncurls his fists and looks down at them, willing them to go away. They don't.

All he can do is pray that Zayn didn't see the way his eyes flashed gold. And hope that he can control himself better if he gets another chance at that, because he wishes he hadn't had to run away.

 

* * *

 

 

**Zayn**

He get to Liam's around eight, but there's already a vehicle parked out front. He recognizes the rusted blue truck, and he doesn't have to see Harry in the cab to know that it's his. Still, he pulls up in front of it and waits, trying to appear at ease, like he totally belongs here and has every right to be parked out front of Liam's house.

Harry gets out of the truck a moment later, and he his knuckles rap sharply against the window until Zayn rolls it down.

"He doesn't need a ride from you," Harry says flatly.

Zayn raises his eyebrows. "Really."

"Really," Harry says with a lot more anger and resentment than someone who's only spoken to him once before should have. "So you can go now. You're not needed."

"I think Liam can decide that for himself, thanks," Zayn says calmly.

The front door to the small house opens, and Liam steps outside, bag throw over his shoulder. He looks tired, even from far away, but his expression brightens with a grin when he meets Zayn's gaze. All Zayn can think about is kissing him last night. Wanting to kiss him the entire night, actually, when they were in his bed, reading and discussing their essay; when he'd leaned in just close enough that Zayn could pick up on the light cologne he was wearing; when he'd been nothing but great at dinner, fielding every question, never being rude or looking annoyed.

And Liam had kissed him back. Right? That's what happened there? Because he can still feel the ghost of Liam's lips against his. Can still remember the way his brown eyes had taken up all of Zayn's vision when he'd leaned in and stole the breath right from his lungs with a simple touch.

He might not have had a lot of friends over the years — or any, he reminds himself—, but he's hooked up with a few people. At one of those parties he'd only been invited to because he was new, or because he was labelled 'mysterious' and people wanted to figure out what his story was. And the whole quiet loner thing actually works with the girls (— and a few guys, too), but never enough for someone to  _date_  him, just enough for them to fumble around with him in a bathroom, or a closet, or a dark corner of the room.

Liam didn't kiss like them, though. He'd kissed softly and hesitantly, like he wasn't quite sure what he was doing, or if he was allowed to. And there'd been something in his eyes, something vulnerable and wondering when Zayn had first kissed him.

He shakes his head, breaking out of his thoughts when Harry stomps away from his car and gets in his truck. "Come on, Liam!" he shouts through the open window, and Zayn watches as Liam looks between the two of them for a long moment.

Honestly, he thought Liam would get into his car. Instead, he gives Zayn a regretful look and sighs before making his way over to Harry. Zayn can't move for a moment. All he can do is sit there and watch them in the rear-view mirror. They're arguing, he thinks. Or— Harry's saying something quickly, and Liam's glaring at him viciously. The anger looks wrong on his face. He's sort of accustomed to the soft, almost shy looks on Liam's face that this one makes him feel weirdly upset.

He'd looked like that the other day, too, when Zayn had offered him a ride that one morning. And he'd been just as taken aback then, because he hadn't thought Liam's features could twist into something so cruel. He'd gotten so dependent on Liam being this almost defencelessly sweet guy who looks like couldn't hurt a fly. He shouldn't have, though, because no one is one dimensional. Just because you might not think someone is capable of something, does not mean that they aren't.

Just as Liam had before getting in the truck, Zayn lets out a sigh before starting up the car and pulling away from the house. He only looks back at the truck once, and he finds Liam staring out his window while Harry gestures wildly. He wonders what, exactly, he did to make Harry hate him, but he knows that the other guy does. There's no doubt about that in his mind. He can only hope that won't affect his— relationship or whatever with Liam.

 

—

 

He sits with Niall and Josh at lunch, as he always does. Just like the day before, he finds Louis' seat empty and spots him across the cafeteria, deep in conversation with Harry while Liam picks absently at his food, looking bored. No one is commenting on this, either, which is weird.

"I thought Louis and Harry hated each other," Zayn says to Niall, unable to keep in the confusion any longer.

Niall looks over his shoulder at the table Zayn had just been glancing at, and he shakes his head, looking just as lost as Zayn. Except he doesn't agree to what Zayn just said. Instead, he says, "It's complicated. Technically, they do, but there's more to it than that."

"What do you mean?" he asks, lowering his voice because Niall had, too, probably to stop the rest of the table from joining in on their conversation.

"Okay," Niall begins, turning his chair a little to face Zayn better. "I don't know the whole story, since I only moved here a few years ago, but Harry and Louis grew up right next door to each other. They were never friends, but Harry's sort of been in love with Louis since they were, like, ten, or so Louis claims. I'm not sure because it's not like I asked the kid myself, but Louis seems pretty positive." He pauses to take a breath. "When I first moved here, Harry followed Louis around like a lost puppy. Offered to carry his books, said hi to him in the hallway whenever they passed each other, sort of just worshipped the ground Louis stood on, right? But then about a year ago, Harry worked up the courage to ask Louis out to one of the school dances, and Louis said yes."

"Wow," Zayn says, shocked. "I can't believe Louis went for that."

"Yeah, neither could anyone else," Niall admits. "But that's because he didn't. He told Harry to meet him there, and he did, but when he got inside Louis was already dancing with his  _actual_  date. And he laughed when Harry demanded to know what he was doing, said he couldn't believe Harry thought he would  _actually_  go to the dance with him. Harry's hated him with a passion ever since then."

"Can't really blame him," Zayn points out. He feels instantly bad for Harry, even if he doesn't like the guy. That was a dick move, what Louis did. No, it was just plain mean and malicious, actually. He likes Louis, he does, but it's true.

"I agree," Niall says solemnly.

Zayn nods, forks up a bite of whatever kind of pasta the cafeteria's serving— if it's pasta. He  _thinks_  it is. "But— wait, that doesn't explain why they're hanging out now."

"No, it doesn't," Niall agrees.

He frowns over at their table again, and he finds Liam's eyes on him. He's not sure if he should smile or glare, so he settles with keeping a blank look on his face. Liam turns back around after a moment.

There's a considering look on Niall's face when Zayn looks over at him again. He's got his eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed, and Zayn can almost hear the gears in his mind turning a mile a minute. And then his eyes widen, his lips part instead, and he makes a horrified, choked sound.

"What?" Zayn demands. "Niall—,"

Niall blinks up at him, features schooled into a calm, relaxed look again. "Hm?"

"What the hell was that?" Zayn asks. "You just—,"

"Oh, I just got this joke Louis told me yesterday," he says while standing up. "You know us blondes. Tell us a joke on Monday and we'll laugh about it on Friday. But I've got to go. I forgot that I have to talk to my History teacher about getting an extension on my paper."

"Okay." He drags out the 'o' in confusion. "I'll see you later?"

"Yeah, for sure," Niall says easily. He pats Zayn's back on his way to the trash bins, where he throws out the rest of his food before hurrying out of the room.

Without Niall there, Zayn feels out of place. No one talks to him, and he doesn't make any effort to talk to them in turn. As soon as his tray is cleared, he follows Niall's path to the trash bins. As he's pushing open the swinging cafeteria doors, he can't help but think that he would have had a much better lunch period if he'd been sitting at another table. More specifically, the one Liam's sitting at.

 

—

 

"I'm sorry for this morning," is the first thing Liam says when he gets into the passenger seat of Zayn's car.

The back is completely cleaned, for once. He'd gotten up early this morning to throw out all the garbage, and he'd stolen the air freshener from his parents car, too. He's not sure why he's bothering, has never attempted to put in any effort for anyone, not like this. It's just that it's  _Liam_  and he sort of  _wants_  to impress him. Wants Liam to like him, for some insane, stupid reason that he can't quite work out.

"What part?" Zayn asks. "The one where your best friend acted like I was going to murder you if I got you alone, or the part where you completed ditched me off for said best friend?"

Liam winces at the accusatory tone in his voice. "Both," he admits. "I should have known Harry would— and I shouldn't have even told him but— fuck, I'm sorry, if that's any consolation."

Zayn shrugs. He wants to be mad, wants to tell Liam that, really, sorry doesn't cut it. But he doesn't, since he can't, and instead he finds himself saying, "It's fine. It's… nice, that you have someone that protective over you."

"It's really not," Liam says, tone flat.

"Sure it is," Zayn argues as he pulls away from the school. "He cares about you, that's all. It must be really nice to have a friend like that."

Making a face at him, Liam asks, "Don't you have someone like that for you? Back at your old town, or something?"

Zayn shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road. His fingers unconsciously clench around the steering wheel, grip too tight to be considered casual. "No," he gets out. "Not really. I'm not exactly good at making friends, and it's a lot easier to just not try to."

Liam hums at this. "So your family wasn't kidding when they said it was a surprise for you to have a friend over. I thought maybe they were just teasing."

"Not teasing," Zayn admits.

Liam still looks baffled by this, so much so that Zayn can't help but snap, a little defensively, " _What_?"

He doesn't mean for it to come out so loud, but Liam literally flinches and his cheeks turn red. "Sorry," Liam says, though it should be Zayn saying that. "It's just that you seem so, like, I don't know. You're just cool. Like, naturally. It's surprising that you don't have a hundred close friends, let alone that you don't even have one."

"Yeah, well." He shrugs again, finality to his tone.

They pull up in front of Liam's, and there's an old, rusted car in the driveway. The second his seatbelt is undone, a frazzled looking woman runs out the door, pulling her hair into a bun as she goes. She's got Liam's eyes, too, soft and warm, but her hair is lighter and so is her skin tone, and she's tiny, unlike Liam, who's all width and height.

"Liam," she says hurriedly, not pausing on the way to the car. "Everything you need for tacos is already in the fridge. You just need to cook the meat and—," she stops short, frowning at Zayn. "Who's this?"

Liam slings his bag over his shoulder and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Mum, this is Zayn. Zayn, this is my mum."

"Nice to meet you, Zayn," she says while pulling open her door. She turns to her son before getting in the car. "You stay in the living room. Not the bedroom. Do you understand me, young man?"

Liam rolls his eyes. "Yes, mum."

"Okay." She nods and smiles swiftly at Zayn. "I'm going to be late for work, though, so… remember what I said. No bedroom."

And then she's getting in the car as they make their way up the front walk. Liam doesn't wait for her to drive off before pulling open the door and waving Zayn inside, but he does stop to give her one last smile before he shuts the door between them.

"Sorry about that," he says when they're inside. "I think she thinks I'm still twelve. Treats me like it, anyways."

Zayn smirks at him. "Do you often have boys in your bedroom?"

Cheeks turning red, Liam shakes his head. "Just Harry, but… he's just Harry."

"And what am I?"

"You're— you're not  _just_ ," Liam says quietly "Or, I'd like for you to not be."

He might not have any idea what that means, but he likes the sound of it.

They kick off their shoes, first, and then Liam leads him into the small living room. The house isn't anything special. It's tiny but comfortable, the walls painted a soft brown, all the furniture a slightly darker shade of the same colour. The television is modest sized, nothing flashy or extravagant. It's just— nice, in an unimposing, simple way. He likes it.

"Or we could go up to the bedroom," Liam says, pausing in the doorway of the living room. He lifts his eyebrows warily, like he's not quite sure how Zayn's going to react to that suggestion.

"Didn't your mum say not to?" he asks, but really, he wants to nod and drag Liam up the stairs.

"Well, yeah, but she's not here," Liam points out.

Zayn chuckles and turns, heading back towards the stairs. Liam hurries after him, an almost giddy expression on his face until he finds Zayn watching him. He schools it, climbs the stairs easily, and he throws open last door at the end of the hall.

Despite the fact that the house isn't very big, his room is almost as big as Zayn's. There's a small window behind the bed, which is queen sized, he guesses, and a desk in one corner, dresser against the wall across from it, a shelf with — he counts— three books and two trophies and then a bunch of action figures and a few CDs. He approaches the shelf before Liam even guides him into the room, reaching up to brush his fingers over the trophies.

"You run track, then?" he asks, reading the name etched into the metal. His eyebrows draw together. "Who's Geoff?"

"Those are my dad's," Liam explains, coming up behind him. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest, a pinched look on his face. "He left them when he left us, and I didn't know what else to do with them, so they're up there."

He's picked up enough to know that the only parent in Liam's life is his mum, but he's never heard Liam come out and explicitly say it. And he doesn't sound sad, either. Just sort of resigned with a hint of anger and hurt. Zayn can't resist putting a hand on his arm, but he doesn't know what to say in this situation, can't remember the last time he tried to console someone.

"Whatever," Liam says dismissively. "It's not a big thing. Not anymore, at least. It's been years. I got over it. Don't think my mum ever did fully, but… it's different. I was young when he left. She'd spent a lot of her life with him, you know?"

"So what about these?" Zayn asks, trying to change the subject. He grabs the first action figure he can, turning it in his hands. "You a big Superman fan?"

Liam snorts, like he's offended. "Definitely not," he says, plunking the small, plastic thing from Zayn's fingers. "Batman, actually. Pretty into the Avengers — mainly Tony Stark and Bruce Banner— too, but my dad sent me those. I got one for every Christmas and Birthday for about three years, until they stopped coming. I kept them because they're so ridiculously stupid. I asked about a hundred times for a Batman one, or an Iron Man one, and he just kept sending me Superman."

"He sounds like a dick," Zayn blurts. He catches himself and hurries to add, "Shit, sorry. See? This is why I don't have friends. I don't think before I talk, and I end up making an ass out of myself."

Instead of getting angry, Liam laughs. "No, I like it," he says. "Every time Harry comes up here, he asks me why I still have them and then he gives me this look, you know, like he feels really bad and he has no idea what to do about it, and it sucks more than the situation. Plus, he is a dick. Everyone thinks it but no one says it. I like that you did. That you don't walk on eggshells around me when it comes to this stuff."

He carefully places the action figure back on the shelf and, as much as Liam claims to dislike the things, he has a feeling that, deep down, he's attached to them. They're set up too neatly, and they're in good shape, too, no broken pieces or chipped paint.

Liam gets this faraway look on his face for a second, and Zayn finds himself saying the first thing that comes to mind once more. "Can I kiss you again?"

Turning, Liam gives him a look that isn't so much confused as it is considering. He licks his lips, too, which makes Zayn's mind short circuit for a moment before he says, "Yeah. I mean— you can."

He puts a hand on Liam's waist and steps forward. He doesn't stop; he just keeps moving forward until Liam has no choice but to stumble backwards, and from there he guides Liam until his legs hit the bed.

"I thought you wanted to kiss me," Liam says, voice shaky.

Zayn grins at him, feigning confidence. "I do. Just—," he shoves at Liam's shoulders gently until he falls onto the bed, "— I want to do it here."

Liam makes a soft sound, but it's not a protestation. In fact, he nods mutely and slides farther up the bed until he's leaning against the pillows. Zayn follows him until he's kneeling over Liam, legs on either side of his body, hands flat on the mattress to support him. Now he's the one who licks his lips, and Liam's gaze drop to them before returning to his eyes again.

"This okay?" he asks anyways, just to be sure.

"Yeah," Liam says again. His thumbs rub circles on Zayn's hips over the thin material of his t-shirt.

He has to close his eyes. It's not a romantic thing, either, where he closes his eyes so he can just enjoy the feel of Liam's lips. No, it's because Liam's eyes are wide and patient, waiting and willing for whatever Zayn's going to give him. And it's not lost on him, the fact that he's probably the only person who's ever laid on this bed with Liam that's had intentions to do more than just sleep, or study, or play video games. Not that he wouldn't like doing those things, too, but right now he'd prefer to memorize the softness of Liam's lips and the feel of his body underneath Zayn's.

He leans in, slow, careful, and blinks open his eyes just once, quickly, and finds Liam still look at him so intently. He pushes down any sense of nerves because, yeah, Liam wants this. And he wants this. So he should just fucking do it, right?

But he doesn't because he's a chicken shit, and just like when he was out training with his dad, he freezes up. His palms sweat, his heart races, and he can't move. Fingers find their way between the thick tangles of his hair, and Liam pulls him down the last inch or so until they're kissing. Unlike last night, it's not a spur of the moment, over before he can think type thing. It's soft, gentle, and he tries not to think of Liam as delicate because he's  _really_  not, but he can't help it.

He tilts his chin a little, and one of Liam's hands slide from his hair, down to cup his jaw. Zayn pulls back, just for a second, and then he kisses Liam once more, this time with less hesitancy, lips firmly grazing Liam's, tongue sliding out to lick alone them until they part just enough for him to deepen the kiss.

Liam groans into his mouth, low and rough, but he barely registers it, just keeps kissing him, getting lost in the way Liam lets him guide the whole thing, the way his hand is still fisted tightly in Zayn's hair, the other one moving down his side, now, nails scratching lightly through his clothes.

"Were you chewing strawberry gum?" Liam asks, lips still close enough to Zayn's that they brush together when he talks.

Zayn blinks away the fog that kissing Liam had settled over his mind. "Um, just after lunch. That was hours ago, though."

Liam grins and mumbles "Tastes good," before kissing him again, this time being a bit more bold, licking into Zayn's mouth like he's done it many times before.

Before long he's breaking contact again, instead fumbling to press kisses to Zayn's jaw. Zayn takes the incentive and does the same to him, surprised to find the skin there covered in a short smattering of stubble that has his lips tingling until he moves down to Liam's neck, mouthing there, teeth scraping lightly until—

It's effortless, the way Liam grabs his hips and flips them over. It happens so fast that Zayn is left to just lay there for a moment, stunned. He doesn't have time to think about it, though, because Liam's hips are grinding into his, and now teeth are biting sharply at his collar, lips are sucking a mark there, and Liam's muttering against his skin, soft "God, you taste so good," and "So attractive," and one simple, drawn out, " _Zayn_."

Fuck, he can't do anything but wrap his legs around Liam's waist and hold on for the ride, hips jerking up feebly to meet Liam's, nails scratching at Liam's back, soft, desperate sounds coming out of his mouth because he hadn't seen this coming. Hadn't anticipated the fact that he'd get this, get Liam moaning against him and rocking their hips together, his length pressing against Zayn's thigh. Not this quickly, at least. Maybe not ever.

Sharp nails dig into his skin, and he winces. "Watch the nails," he groans, tipping his head back, arching his neck to give Liam better access, since he's apparently become fascinated with sucking and kissing and biting at Zayn's neck. He figures it's red and pink and purple, a plethora of little marks left there by Liam's lips.

Just like when they were flipped over, Zayn doesn't have any time to react before Liam's off him, off the bed, across the room. He's tugging a hand jerkily through his hair, back turned and tensed. "Sorry," he says, and his voice is quiet, flat.

Zayn sits up, tugging his shirt back down over his stomach. He runs a hand through his hair, too, trying to restore some order after Liam had his way with it. "It's cool," Zayn says slowly. "Really. We should probably go work on our project anyways."

Except maybe it's not completely cool, he thinks, because there's a rip in his jeans from Liam's nails. How the hell did he manage that? He frowns down at it, and it almost looks like puncture holes. He goes to ask what the fuck happened there, how Liam did that, but Liam's turning back to him, wide eyed with an almost hopeful, weak smile on his face. Zayn probably couldn't even spell his name correctly at that moment, if you asked him to. Not if Liam was still looking at him like that.

"You're probably right," Liam agrees. "Downstairs, then?"

He nods and stands up, trying to hide the fact that he's unsteady on his feet. His ears are sort of ringing, he's hard in his jeans, and he feels light-headed. In a good way, though. The best way, really. And he likes that Liam does that to him. Sort of really likes Liam, too, and that's not something he's thought about anyone in a long, long time.

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

"You like him," Harry repeats, sounding incredulous. He's more than a little grateful that Harry isn't actually with him, since he'd be willing to bet all the money he has saved up that the look on his face is an extremely judgemental one. "Zayn. You like  _Zayn._  As in, the werewolf hunter. As in,  _you_ , the  _werewolf,_  have a thing for the  _werewolf hunter_."

Liam grits his teeth and says, "Yes."

"Okay, just clarifying," Harry says. "You  _idiot_. Honestly, Liam!"

"I'm aware that it's not exactly the smartest thing, but—,"

"Not exactly the smartest thing." Harry snorts loud enough that Liam wonders if his brain came out his nose. " _Fuck_. Of all the people. Why couldn't it have been someone normal, Liam? Why must you complicate our lives even more? Like it's not bad enough that you're a damn creature of the night. The first guy you've been interested in in— ever, really— happens to be someone whose family is literally trying to kill you right now."

"Again, I'm aware."

"Just checking."

Liam sighs and sinks onto the couch. It still smells like smoke and soap, and he wonders if his bed does, too, and then he figures, yeah, it probably does. He shouldn't smile at that, but he can't help it. Not when the memories are still fresh in his mind, and he can still taste the ghost of strawberry gum when he licks his lips. But then the other memories flood back, too, like the part where he'd nearly clawed Zayn's leg off, and he's lost control for long enough that, if Zayn hadn't been so distracted, he definitely would have gotten found out. He's extremely lucky that he didn't, actually.

"So what are you going to do?"

Again, Liam sighs. "What  _can_  I do?"

"Well, what do you  _want_  to do?"

He smirks. "Well, Harry, you see, when two people like each other very much—"

"Yeah, I got that." He can hear Harry moving around in his room, figures he's probably on his computer chair, turning in circles, like he's prone to do until he's so dizzy that he stumbles out of it when he stands up. "But I'm guessing that the whole 'stay away from him' thing isn't an option anymore."

It never really was, if Liam's being honest with himself. "Nope."

"You guys are like Romeo and Juliet," Harry comments, and Liam swears he's actually giggling. "Except, in this case, Romeo's going to kill Juliet instead of himself."

"I'm so glad this is amusing to you," Liam says dryly.

Harry just laughs louder. "If you can't see the humour in things, you'll end up crying over everything."

"But—," he sucks in a breath and starts over. "But maybe he doesn't ever have to find out. I mean, I've kept it from everyone, right? Even my  _mum_  doesn't know. I could keep it from him."

"And what happens when one day you're trying to have sex, and the next thing he knows, you've got gold eyes and claws? What then, Liam?"

He chews over this for a moment, knowing Harry's right. All they did was kiss today and he'd totally lost it. Not that he couldn't learn to control it, Harry says, but how long would that take? "We just won't do anything like that, then," Liam decides.

"Abstinence," Harry states. "Good luck with that one."

Liam groans in annoyance. "You're not helping at all."

"I'm not a miracle worker," Harry points out. "This situation can't  _be_  helped. I think you know it, too. It's just a bad idea, and it's potentially  _deadly_. And my dad says—,"

Liam stands up quickly, crouching. "Shut up," he hisses, eyes narrowing. After a beat he adds, "Sorry."

"Liam," Harry says calmly. "What's wrong?'

"Someone's breaking into my house," Liam admits. "I have to go. I'll call you back."

"What? No, don't you dare hang up on me, Liam James Pay—,"  _click_.

He drops his cellphone onto the couch and takes a step towards the kitchen, where someone's turning the door handle while scratching at the lock. He tries to listen, to pick up on whether there's more than one person. For one horrible second he considers the fact that maybe he hadn't been as sneaky as he'd thought he'd been today. Maybe Zayn  _has_  noticed, and maybe what's on the other side of the door is the consequences of that.

Staying in the shadows of the darkened kitchen, he ducks low, out of sight of the small, curtain covered window in the door. And then whoever is trying to break in disappears. He frowns, standing up straighter again, until he hears a crash in his bedroom a few minutes later and a muttered, "Son of a  _fuck_."

It takes him seconds to get to the second floor, and even less time to wrap a hand around his doorknob. He goes to pull it open, eyes glowing, teeth barred, but then he picks up on a semi-familiar scent and he pauses, coming back to himself.

When he steps into his room, Niall is flipping through the book Zayn had left on his bedside table. He looks surprised when the door opens wide enough to bounce off the wall, a soft thud echoing through the space.

"Hey," Niall says, smiling brightly as if this is something that happens all the time.

"What are you doing here?" Liam demands. "Did you— did you break in?"

"I thought Zayn might still be here," he explains, "and I didn't want to have this conversation with him here."

"He's not here," Liam tells him. "And  _what_  conversation?"

He thinks he's taking this surprisingly well, considering the fact that a guy he's known for years and has only talked to a handful of times just broke into his bedroom and, from what he can tell, ripped his screen to do so.

Niall rolls his eyes. "You know what conversation."

Liam shakes his head. "I really don't."

Niall lean back on his bed easily, legs stretched out in front of him. "I should have realized a while ago," he starts, head cocked to the side. "When you took that week off school, and then the next you were attached at the hip with Styles. It's really obvious, now that I think about."

Liam tenses, but other than that he shows no sign of having any idea what Niall's talking about. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"And now my best mate is hanging out with you two," he continues, "even though Louis hates Harry with a passion. And I realized, when I stopped to think about it, that that whole thing started the first day we got back to school after the full moon."

His tongue is dry in his mouth as he says, "I have no idea what you're trying to get at."

"Okay." Niall sits up a bit straighter, eyes narrowing. "So tell me what's really going on then, Liam. Because right now I can only think of one explanation, and I'm praying that I'm wrong, trust me, but I don't think I am."

He can see it in Niall's eyes, the fact that he knows and he's not going to back down, no matter how much Liam denies it. In that moment everything in him crumbles and his legs feel weak. He leans against the door, ducking his head, and so softly he doubts Niall can even hear him, he says, "Don't tell him. Zayn can't— you can't tell him."

When he looks up, Niall is staring at him with his lips parted in surprise. "Shit," he hisses. "I was honestly hoping you'd call me crazy and kick me out, or maybe even phone the police." He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. "I won't tell him, though. If I give you up, I give Louis up, and I can't do that."

Liam squeezes his eyes closed for a moment. "Then why'd you come here? Just to scare me?"

"No," Niall says, sincerity ringing in his words. "I came to help."

He looks up at that, surprise probably evident on his face. "What?"

Niall nods. "I have to," he says. "I figure, if I help, we can fix this and then maybe Zayn's family will leave and they'll stop looking for you two."

"Help  _what_?" Liam racks his brain for an answer to that, but he can't think of anything.

"Help you catch the alpha, obviously," Niall says, like he should know this. "The one who bit you. Who I'm assuming bit Louis, too. We catch him, kill him, and then you two lay low for long enough and the hunters will get bored. Think the rest of the pack ran off when the alpha was killed. It's the only way I can see everyone getting out of this without incident."

"You want us to catch him," Liam states. " _Us_. We're just a bunch of teenagers!"

Niall shrugs. "And? What's your point?"

"My point is— it's  _dangerous_ ," Liam rattles off. "It's insane. Not to mention the fact that none of us are equipped to do that."

"Speak for yourself," Niall says. "And you were  _born_  equipped. Or bitten, anyways."

"And what if I don't want to?"

The look Niall gives him is challenging and angry. "Then more people get bit, or killed. And we're going to tack your name onto the bottom of the list of the latter."

He doesn't want to believe that, but there's conviction in Niall's eyes.

Swallowing, Liam asks, "What do you want me to do?"

"Get Harry on board," Niall says while standing up. "And then Louis. And after that, we're going to take this guy down."

Liam nods silently and Niall pats his shoulder on the way out, like they're friends or something, which they're not. Not exactly, anyways. "See you at school tomorrow, Liam," he adds on his way down the stairs.

Liam stays in his room. He hears the downstairs door open and close, hears Niall's footsteps as he walks away from the house. When he can't pick them up any longer, he collapses on his bed and lays there until he hears his mum's car. Then he hurries downstairs, throws everything he should have eaten for dinner into the garbage so she doesn't ask why he didn't, and then he runs back to his room, flicks off the light and falls back into bed, surrounded by Zayn's scent.

For the first time in months, he sleeps dreamlessly.

 

—

 

As promised, Niall does see him at school the next day. Or, more accurately, he sits down beside Liam at lunch. Louis is already in the seat beside Harry, shovelling food into his mouth as he continues to press Harry for answers on more of his questions, ones that range from "Is it only the day of the full moon that I go crazy, or is like a week long thing, like getting your period?" to "Can I get pregnant now?" which doesn't even make sense, but Louis looks honestly concerned about this.

"Hey," Niall says, dropping his tray loudly.

Louis cuts off in the middle of asking something about his dick, which has Harry's nose wrinkling, and they all go quiet. "What are you doing here?" Louis asks finally, first the break the silence.

Niall looks between all of them and then gives Liam an accusatory look. "You haven't talked to them yet?"

He shifts in his seat, feeling scolded. "I was working on it."

"Talked to us about  _what_?" Harry demands. "Liam—,"

"I know," Niall says, cutting him off, "about Liam and Louis, so don't bother bullshitting me."

Again, the table falls silent for a few seconds. "Oh." This time Harry is the one to speak first.

Before Niall can pitch his idea of them taking down the werewolf that bit Liam and Louis, another person sits at their table. Zayn spares Liam one soft smile before saying, "Everyone ditched me off. Thanks for the memo that we're sitting at this table now, by the way."

"Does he know, too?" Harry snaps, a glare on his face.

"Do I know what?" Zayn questions with a sandwich halfway to his mouth. "What are we talking about?"

Unanimously, they say, "Nothing." It's perfectly in sync, all their tones matching up. Liam is the first to crack, a grin slipping onto his face, and then Harry's laughing and Louis joins a moment later with a hand over his mouth, and Niall's cheeks go red with the force of the laugh that comes out of him.

Zayn chews a bite of his sandwich, puts it down and then says, "Right. I'm lost. What did I miss?"

Louis sighs deeply. "My Halloween party plans," he lies. "I have one every year — but you don't know that because you're new—, and this year my parents are renting out that corn maze just outside of town. I told Harry a few days ago and  _apparently_  he told Liam, who told Niall, because no one here can keep a secret."

Louis Tomlinson is a fantastic liar, you have to give him that. Zayn buys the story, too. "Why would you want to have it out at the maze, though?" he asks.

Again, Louis just rolls with it, spouting off bullshit that may actually be partially true, actually. "It's cool, it's just the right side of freaky, and it's expensive. If that doesn't sum me up perfectly, I don't know what does."

"But what do you  _do_  at the maze?" Zayn pushes. His nose wrinkles. "That doesn't sound like the type of place you'd have a party at."

"No, it'll be great," Louis says passionately. "We're getting a huge tent, and there'll be lights and a dance floor and a DJ and it's going to be catered, and then we're going to have booths set up inside the maze itself where you can win prizes and stuff, and there will be patrons there to help anyone who can't make it through. And the first couple to make it through the maze gets the grand prize."

"He did a raffle last year," Niall adds. "What was the prize then?"

"That miniature motorcycle thing," Louis says offhandedly. "This year it's an exclusive day trip to London for two. My parents were going to go, originally, but something came up so they gave the tickets to me, but I don't really need them. If I want to go to London, I can go whenever I want."

Liam breathes out an impressed breath. He's heard about Louis' parties. Everyone has, actually. He's just never been invited to one. He's wondering if this year will be any different, given the circumstances, when Louis says, "And you're all going to come, of course." He pauses, tilting his chin a bit. "Even Harry."

Harry gives him a solemn look. "I'm so very honoured that you've deigned me worthy, Louis. I'll cherish this until my dying day."

He's so caught up in paying attention to the conversation that it takes him a while to notice that people are looking at them. A lot of people. Like, almost everyone in the cafeteria. He looks around, cheeks burning, as he meets the gaze of classmate after classmate, expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief to horror.

He knows what it's about, too. It was only a matter of time before everyone started wondering when hell froze over and Louis Tomlinson started sitting with them, instead of at his usual table, and why he brought Niall and Zayn with him.

"What?" Louis snaps, catching on. "What are you all staring at? You can get back to your pathetic lives now, thank you."

"Are we still on for tonight?" Zayn wonders, leaning forward a bit, head inclined in Liam's direction. He puts a hand on Liam's thigh, fingers lightly squeezing.

Remembering the conversation with Harry yesterday, Liam nods but says, "At the library? My mum'll be home today, and she'd probably hover over us the whole time." It's a lie, and he  _wants_  to spend time alone with Zayn, he does, he just doesn't trust himself.

"Sure," Zayn says, fingers drumming on Liam's leg for a moment until they're gone and he picks up his sandwich again, resuming eating.

He can't help but wonder how this would be if things were different. If he and Zayn were both normal. They're not, though, and there's nothing he can do to change that; this is just how things have to be.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

He's been to his fair share of parties in his life, but they were all the sort of dingy house parties that people like him get invited to. The type where half the people attending are so drunk they're passed out on random furniture, each other, or even the floor. Where smoke hangs in the air, smelling of nicotine or marijuana, or both. Where 'party favours' were tiny little pills in dime baggies that people placed on their tongues and chased with Pepsi or beer.

Louis' party will not be like that, he knows. Since Niall has apparently taken Zayn in as his new best friend, and since he's already Louis' best friend, Zayn is inadvertently roped into helping with the party. Niall is stuck helping put up decorations, but Zayn actually gets to help pick out the music that'll be playing all night, which is kind of cool, surprisingly.

He'd been more than a little wary when he'd heard it was going to be at the corn maze just outside of town, the one they'd driven past on their way in that was spread out on many acres, seemingly endless. He has a thing against mazes. They freak him out, admittedly. There's not many things he hates more than being lost, and he does not see the appeal of  _purposely_  getting lost. Still, he can't deny that it's cool, nor can he deny the fact that he's really looking forward to it.

So when his mum serves him a special breakfast on Thursday morning with a too bright smile and a too tight hug, he knows that something's going to ruin it.

"I need you to baby sit," she says, and there it is. The bomb that will destroy everything. She winces, too, like she knows what she's doing and she really doesn't want to.

Zayn shakes his head. "Get Waliyha to do it. I have plans, you know that."

His mother nods, like she  _does_ , but she gives him a regretful, apologetic look. "She can't. She's been invited to a party, too, but it's an overnight thing, and your father and I have things we need to do."

"So leave her at home," Zayn suggest. "Safaa's not that young."

"Your sister is nine years old. We are not leaving her home until God only knows what hour," his mother snaps. "You can take her with you to the party. I've already called Louis' parents, and there won't be drinking or anything like that. It's perfectly fine for you to bring her with you."

He doesn't want to be one of those kids, but he can't help it. "But  _mum_ —,"

"No buts." There's a set look on her face. While his mother is normally all sunshine and warmth, she is also capable of being stern and cold, when she wants to be. "You want to go to the party, you take your sister. Or you can stay home. It's up to you, but you  _will_  be watching her, Zayn, and that's final."

His mouth snaps shut with an audible sound. He stabs at the eggs on his plate angrily while glaring down at them, as if they've done him some great, personal wrong. "This is bullshit."

She ignores him, but she  _knows_  what tomorrow is. It's not  _just_  Louis' party. It's also his first date with Liam. Actually, it's his first  _date_ , ever. And he's trying not to make a big deal of it because he's too cool for that or whatever, but it sort of is. It's sort of a  _really_  big deal.

"Liam will understand, sweetie," his mother says, ruffling his hair the way she used to when he was younger and doing so wouldn't ruin twenty minutes of precise styling. "He's a good one, that boy. He won't mind."

"Whatever," Zayn grumbles.

He gets another sympathetic yet stern look for that, but not a scolding. He' still pissed by the time he leaves to pick Liam up for school, though. At least Harry isn't there today to bite his head off for it. He's not sure if Liam talked to him about that, or if maybe Harry's warmed to him after spending lunch together yesterday. Either way, he's glad that there's not that obstacle anymore.

Liam is restless and jumpy when he gets in the passenger seat. His eyes are sort of wild, flitting everywhere, and his leg is jiggling so much that it's actually moving the car.

"What's wrong?" Zayn asks, trying not to sound as concerned as he feels.

He's not used to  _feeling_  things, and it throws him off because, when he's with Liam, he can't help it. Liam — and Harry and Louis too, it seems — is the type of person that feels everything. When he's happy, you know it. There's a blinding smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. When he's angry, he lets you know, too, with snapped words and sharply narrowed eyes. And when he's down, like that day when they were in his room, talking about his dad, you can see it etched into every crevice of his face, even if he's doing his best to hide it.

"I'm fine," Liam assures him, a bit too quickly. He realizes this, too. "It's just— something feels off. I don't know what, and I can't explain it. Something just feels wrong."

"I might know something that could help that," he offers, waggling his eyebrows. He puts a hand on Liam's leg and slides it up slowly, lips curled up in a smirk.

Something flashes in Liam's eyes. It's there one second, gone the next, and then he's moving Zayn's hand off his leg, careful but firm, twining their fingers together and holding them over the seat divider instead. He tries not to look wounded by that, but he must fail.

"Sorry," Liam says quietly. "I just don't want us to be late."

"Oh, right." He nods and pulls away from Liam's house, taking the short-cut he'd found to get to school faster.

When he pulls into his usual parking spot, Harry's truck is on his left, Louis' Porsche on his right. He gets out, finding the two of them and Niall leaning against the trunk of Harry's truck. Weirdly enough, Louis' got a hand on Harry's arm and a worried look on his face. Not worried for anyone else, but worried for  _Harry_ , almost, which is just weird and confusing. Then again, so is everything lately. Last week had been so vastly different from this one. For one, Harry and Louis had seemed to hate each other. Niall seemed indifferent to Harry and Liam. And he wasn't sort of, possibly dating Liam. If that's what they're doing. He hopes that's what they're doing.

And then he remembers this morning, and the fact that he hasn't told Liam yet because he was too busy worrying about him. "Can we talk before we go join them?" he asks in a small voice.

Now Liam's the one who looks worried. "Sure," he says warily. "About what?"

"About tomorrow," Zayn starts, causing Liam's worried expression to morph into one of hurt and disappointment before he can even finish.

"It's fine if you don't want to go with me," he says. "I know I'm not popular or whatever, and you are, and—,"

"It's not that," Zayn says. "It's  _definitely_  not that. I couldn't give less of a shit about that. It's just that I, um, sort of need to baby sit. My parents didn't really give me a choice, even though I said that tomorrow was important."

That bright smile brightens Liam's face, as it usually does. "It was important, huh?"

"You are," Zayn admits. "Sort of. I don't know. Is that cheesy?"

Liam shrugs, like he doesn't care if it is. He kisses Zayn's cheek and says, "And I don't mind. I liked your sister. We'll just reschedule the alone date until another time."

"You're sure?"

"Definitely."

Zayn decides right then and there that, if he ever has to fall stupidly, pathetically in love with someone, he wouldn't mind as long as that person was Liam Payne.

They get out of the car, Liam first, and join the rest of them behind the truck. Niall's got the back pulled down and he's sitting on it, legs dangling, straw of what looks like a milkshake (this early?) in his mouth. Louis' talking in a rush to Harry, lines forming between his brow. "— feel it? It's  _wrong_. Something. I can't tell what it is, but I can  _feel_ it, Harry."

"Liam said the same thing," Zayn offers. He attempts to steal Niall's drink from him, but Niall swats his hand away. A second later he hands the drink over, revealing the fact that it is, in fact, a chocolate milkshake. How he doesn't weigh four hundred pounds eludes Zayn.

"See!" Louis says loudly. "Liam gets it."

"Wrong  _how_?" Niall asks.

"Eerie," Liam supplies.

"Like, before a storm," Louis adds. "When everything's too settled, too calm, but all the animals are running because they know something's coming. It's like that."

"Good analogy," Harry says with a smirk. Louis and Liam both glare at him for this, though Zayn doesn't get why.

The bell rings before they can continue the conversation. Niall scrambles off the truck, Harry pushes the back part up again, and then they head inside, Liam's fingers in the slots between his own.

Liam and Louis are both weirdly tense at lunch, though, and Zayn's starting to wonder if maybe they're not just imagining things. Or maybe they're making him imagine things. That's likely, he figures.

They don't get to talk about it, though, because Miranda sits next to Zayn without warning, and then Josh slides into the seat next to Niall, and Andrew beside Harry, and Drew beside Liam. All of a sudden the entire group from their old table is sitting with them and bringing Harry and Liam into the conversation as if nothing has changed. Harry seems to think this is brilliant, happily arguing with Drew about something that Zayn's not paying attention to, laughing when Miranda tells a joke. Liam, on the other hand, looks pinched and nervous the whole time, like he's not used to this many people paying attention to him. That strikes Zayn as wrong. People should have been paying attention to him always. He doesn't really get how they managed  _not to_ , because Liam is kind of wonderful.

If the world is deciding to just realize this now, he'll happily share Liam's brilliance with everyone else, as long as he still gets Liam's hand in his, hidden under the table, squeezing tightly every couple of minutes as if to remind Zayn that it's still there.

 

—

 

"If you don't go as a cat, too, we won't match," Safaa hisses.

They've been arguing about this for the last, oh, six hours. She might be young and little, his sister, but she is every bit as demanding and stubborn as their mother, when she wants. It's driving him crazy. Normally he's happy to give her whatever she wants, would go so far as to say he spoilers her rotten, but this is different. This night is important, and there's already a hitch in the plans. He's not going to add 'I dressed up as a kitty' to the list of things that are going to be terrible about this date.

"I'm not wearing a costume," Zayn repeats for what must be the twentieth time, at least. "Boys don't dress up as cats."

"Why not?" Safaa demands, face scrunched, tiny hands on her hips. In that moment she looks so much like their mother that is scares him.

"Because it's just— it's just not something that we do, okay? Would you dress up as — as an army man?"

Safaa raises her eyebrows. She's too smart for her own good, this kid. "Yes, I would," she says defiantly. "If I want to do something, I'm going to do it because I want to, not because I'm a girl and people think it's for girls. And I'm not going to  _not_  do something just because  _some_ people think it's for boys."

There she goes, giving a big fuck you to sexism without even blinking her eyes, pink still smudged around her mouth from the popsicle he'd tried to give her as a bargaining chip. He lets out a sigh and wipes the smudge away before saying, "You're not letting me leave without dressing up, are you?"

"I'll kick and scream," she promises.

"Oh, alright." he lets her tug him into the bathroom, lets her draw ridiculous whiskers on his face in Waliyha's black eyeliner, and then afterwards she produces a pair of black and pink cat ears for him. He has absolutely no idea where she got them from, but he has a feeling his mother won't look at all surprised when he goes downstairs looking like this.

"You have to wear all black, too," Safaa adds. "You're a black kitty because black kitties are special to Halloween. That's way Liyha told me."

"Waliyha talks a lot of shit," Zayn mutters under his breath.

Safaa's eyes widen and she says, "If you give me another popsicle, I won't tell mum that you swore."

"You're relentless, do you know that?" he asks her, but he's smiling fondly anyways.

"I'm nine," she says flatly. "I don't even know what that word means."

By the time they leave, he's dressed, for all intensive purposes, like a black cat. Or Safaa's idea of a black cat, anyways. Tight black jeans, black pullover, cat ears, black smudged on his nose and lines going out in all directions from it. When he pulls up in front of Liam's house, he doesn't feel so stupid.

"Nice tie," he can't help but say.

Liam tugs at the gold and red striped garment and grins weakly at him. "I haven't been a Harry Potter character yet," he says. "And you said something about Lupin being your favourite or whatever."

"No, Lupin's his  _least_  favourite," Safaa says from the back. "He's a werewolf, and Zayn hates werewolves."

They must make an interesting picture, he and Liam. Him in all black, Liam absolutely paper white from Safaa's words.

"He's— he's not my  _least_  favourite," Zayn corrects. "There are characters I hate a lot more."

Liam's obviously went to a lot of trouble with this, too, because he's got the prefects badge and everything, stitched right into the chest of his sweater, along with the Gryffindor crest. It's sweet, it is, and Zayn so wishes that he hadn't been stuck bringing Safaa with them.

"Let's just go," Liam says with a shrug. He doesn't sound upset at all, but he chews his lip and stares out the window the whole ride.

It takes nearly half an hour to get out to the maze. When they do, it's worth it. It's just after eight, which means it's nearly pitch black outside. There's lights strung up everywhere, though, illuminating everything. There's music coming from the tent in the distance, a little ways from the parking lot that's nearly filled with cars.

"Wow," Safaa breathes. " _Awesome_."

"You don't leave my sight the entire night, do you hear me?" Zayn says, meeting her eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"What about—,"

"No exceptions," Zayn says firmly. "Or I'll call mum and dad."

Safaa sighs and nods. "Alright, alright. Dictator."

Zayn makes a face at her. "Do you even know what that word means?"

"Yes," she says seriously. "Penis potato."

At least that makes Liam laugh. Zayn resigns himself to getting out of the car and grabbing her hand as soon as they're outside, taking Liam's in the other. It's actually sort of nice, not that he'd admit that out loud.

Liam isn't the only one who went with the werewolf theme. When they find Louis, chatting with people just outside the tent, he's got his own set of fake ears, only they're brown and fuzzier and he's got a pair of sharp looking canines to match, and fake, clawed nails. There's a tear in his shirt, just above his hip, like someone had ripped at it with their teeth. Underneath the rip, he can just barely make out the fake bite mark. It makes him shudder, the details almost too real.

Liam is eying him warily, and when Louis comes over to them and says "What? What's wrong with my costume?" Liam just sighs heavily.

"Is here candy?" Safaa asks, eyes wide and innocent. The whole look is put on. She hasn't looked that young and sweet since she learned to talk, he's fairly sure.

"There definitely is," Louis says, thankfully not using that baby voice that some people do with little kids. Safaa probably would have stomped on his foot for it. "In the tent. There's pastries, too, and drinks. Help yourselves. Sadly, I have guests to attend to. Oh, and Harry's somewhere in the tent, in case you're wondering. Niall's somewhere. He was with Josh last time I checked."

They nod and, after Safaa's insisting, head into the tent.

The tent does little to keep the slightly chilly air out, and everyone dressed inappropriately for the weather in costumes with too little material look like they're regretting it. It's nice inside, though. The lights are strung up along the top of the tent, and there's a few picnic tables set up for people to sit at, each one topped with a carved pumpkin, candles lighting them all up. There's a long table against the left, too, topped with small plastic cups and individually wrapped cakes and bars and such. Safaa helps herself to a single cupcake, while Liam feeds Zayn a brownie, and then a cupcake, and Zayn feeds Liam two chocolate covered strawberries because he likes them best. They stain his lips a deep red, too, that makes Zayn wonder if that's how they'd look after spending enough time with those lips wrapped around his—

"A kitty," someone says, flicking Zayn's ears. "Where's your tail?" Harry grins at him, and then at Liam, and finally at Safaa. " _She's_  got a tail. You're being one-upped, mate."

"My mum says that cats are moody, and that the costume suits him," Safaa tells Harry.

Harry himself is in a simple Jason from Friday the Thirteenth costume, blood covered clever and everything, though it's rubber, or so he realizes when Harry starts bending it absently.

"They're starting the maze soon," Harry says. "We've got to split up into groups of two." He gives Zayn a sympathetic look. "I can take her if you and Liam want to go by yourselves."

"I'm not allowed to leave Zayn's sight at all tonight," Safaa says. "No exceptions. Right, Zayn?"

He grimaces. "Right. I did say that."

"It's fine," Liam assures him. "You take her, and I'll go with Harry. We'll meet up afterwards."

"Li—,"

"It's fine," Liam repeats, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. "If we start now, we'll hopefully be done fast anyways, and maybe we'll even win that trip to London."

"If we win, I'm not giving up my ticket so you can go with Zayn," Harry argues. Liam gives him a look. "Ugh. The things I do for you, Liam. Don't know why we're friends, I really don't."

Before they head off for the maze, Louis tugs Liam away from him. The two of them huddle in the corner for a long while, both talking in a hushed whisper. He and Harry are both openly staring at them while Safaa stuffs her face with far more cakes than Zayn would normally allow. He figures the pinched look on Harry's face mirrors his own as he strains to hear what they're saying, but over the rest of the crowd talking and the background music, he gets nothing but a few scattered words that don't add up to anything.

When Liam gets back to them, he shakes his head at Zayn's questioning look and gives him a reassuring smile. "Issues with the lighting in part of the maze," he explains. "Nothing too problematic."

Zayn puts a hand on his arm. "That's all? You're sure?"

"Definitely."

"You two are gross," Safaa mutters. "Are we doing the maze now, or are you and Liam gunna kiss?"

Zayn rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time that night, and he has a feeling it won't be the last.

 

—

 

The maze has eight different entrances, but only one exit. He considers skipping it, but Safaa is adamant about the whole thing so he really doesn't have a choice. Plus, the cat ears might be worth it if they won. Or so he tries to tell himself.

It's kind of his own personal nightmare, to be honest. Safaa tugs him into the maze as soon as Louis waves them all in, and then he's surrounded on all sides by  _corn_. Normally he loves corn, but right now it's definitely his least favourite vegetable. It's tall and grown so thickly that it creates walls, and sometimes the path gets so narrow that they have to go single file, and other times it opens up into big crossroads. At the second crossroad they find a dart booth where each person gets five darts and a chance to win a prize.

He's got good aim, but he wants to skip it. He doesn't get to, though, because the look on Safaa's face when she spots a giggling couple throwing the darts and popping balloons is one that he's not going to wipe away by saying no.

He gets a prize, too; a small, blue stuffed dog. Safaa leaves with a fairly large teddy bear that looks ridiculous in her arms, but she refuses to let him carry it for her.

The next booth is a ring toss, and he's fairly certain they're actually going  _backward,_ but the guy in the booth refuses to tell him whether they are or not. And, just like any fair or carnival he's been at, the ring toss game is so fucking rigged. Somehow Safaa leaves with a prize anyways, this time a beaded necklace with a giant, pink heart pendant that hangs almost to her waist.

Things get weirdly quiet after that. Before, he could hear other people. They were passing other people. Now, it's been about ten minutes since he's last heard someone other than himself or Safaa speak, and it's getting to him. He eyes each wall warily, and he thinks he finally gets what Louis and Liam were talking about earlier. Everything feels creepily calm. Like chaos is going to break out at any second.

Still, they have no choice but to move forward. And Louis promised there'd be people set up all along the maze to help anyone who's lost out, right? Zayn tries to find one of these people, decides that he doesn't want to play this stupid game anymore. Even Safaa seems like she wants to give up, too, so he starts calling out, waiting for a reply.

He finds a post a few minutes later. It's just a stick in the ground with a sign on it that says,  _If lost, wait here. Someone will help you find your way out_. Except there's no one around, even when he calls out again, so he tugs Safaa forward, figuring that either the person who was supposed to be at this post is busy helping someone else out, or they abandoned it. There'll be more people situated around the maze, he knows. They just have to find one.

As he turns the next corner, he realizes he was wrong. They're at a crossroads again, four different directions they can go in, a good square of space between them. The first thing he does is cover Safaa's eyes, and then he tells her to be very quiet and not to move or turn around.

Realistically, he knows the body could be fake. This is Halloween and all, and sometimes people like to scare you. Except it's not a fake body. It's still warm, and no matter how hard you try, it's not possible to replicate the glassy, empty look in the eyes of a dead body.

It's left almost directly in the middle of the crossroads. There's a pool of blood around it, and the clothes the man was wearing are stained red, too, but the reflector vest he's wearing is still doing it's job. There's a nametag hanging loosely from the ripped shreds of the man's chest, the name  _William_  standing out to him, for some odd reason. More so than the ragged flesh, or the rib cage that is clearly visible.

A person couldn't have done this. He's only seen wounds like this come from two things: big animals, like bears or lions (never first hand, of course, but it helps, in his life, to be able to distinguish the differences), or a werewolf.

It's still eerily quiet, too, except for Safaa's soft crying. She's huddled near the opening of the path they'd just come from, hands clasped tightly over her face the way Zayn had left her. Her shoulders shake and she's stomping her foot on the ground. That's a move he recognizes, one he's done many times in his life when he's trying to will himself not to cry.

Something rustles the wall just behind him. He whirls, eyes wide, and starts backing up, reaching behind him for his sisters. Fuck, he doesn't even have a knife on him. And he knows that running could be more dangerous than staying put in this situation. There's no way to run quietly, especially when you have a child with you. If they move too much, they could alert whatever's out there to their presence.

Still. "If I say run," he whispers right in her ear, trying to keep his voice too low for anything to pick up, knowing that the thing out there can hear far better than he could ever dream of, "you run. Okay?"

Safaa nods silently and clutches at him. He's never seen her scared like this. Honestly, she seems so fearlessly and mature all the time that it's easy to forget that she really is just a little kid. A scared little kid. And so is he.

This time the rustling comes from his left. He turns and moves Safaa behind him and starts backing them up as slowly as he can. Nothing comes out of the thickly grown corn, though. No glowing eyes alert him to the presence of one of them, no blood covered claws or canines dripping with saliva.

In the distance, someone screams. And then another. It's like a domino affect. He has a feeling that most of the people screaming don't even know why they're screaming, they're just picking up on someone else's terror and projecting it.

He scoops Saf up in his arms and runs.

There's no way to know where he's going. He needs a map, or a guide, but there isn't one. All he has is the moon, the stars, and the faint light coming from the party, which is what he uses to guide them. Fuck getting to the exit. He's willing to start running straight through the corn right now. It's too thick, though, and they'd actually be slower, not to mention the fact that it'd be dangerous.

Thinking he hears people, he turns a corner to follow them, but he just ends up back at the crossroads again. There's something already there, something with glowing golden eyes, dragging the body into the nearest wall of corn. It freezes when Zayn stops dead, eyes lifting to him.

The worst thing about these things, in Zayn's opinion, is sometimes they look  _almost_  human. Or — just human enough to be grotesque. The shape of its face is reminiscent of a man's, and the eyes, too, if you can get past the unearthly glow and colour. And then the body shape. From behind, it'd be almost impossible to tell the difference between one of them and one of those  _things_. Except the ears are more pointed, and the hands that hang at its sides end in sharp, thick points.

Safaa doesn't scream. He has no idea how she keeps it in, but tiny nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that he knows there will be scabs there tomorrow from the skin she's scraping off.

If they make it to tomorrow.

It growls at them, low and horrible. Zayn starts back-pedalling, trying to get Safaa on the ground so he can tell her to run and stay and fight the thing himself. He won't win, he  _knows_  he won't, but he can buy her time, pray that she finds someone who can help her.

The thing comes towards them, and he'd swear it was smirking if someone asked. Blood drips from it's teeth, too syrupy to be anything else. And then it's blindsided, knocked off its feet by another body. A familiar one, except last time he'd come face-to-face with it, one of his arrows had been sticking out of its leg.

All he can hear is them tearing at each other. There's so much blood that he has no idea who it belongs to, but the new one seems to be coming out on top, he thinks. It's bigger, wider shoulders, and the first one yelps in pain before it's running off. The second one gives Zayn and Safaa one quick look, golden eyes reflecting the light of the moon above, and then it's gone, too.

Safaa's crying again, but she's pounding at his shoulders now, begging to be put down. Zayn does so, as gently as he can, but he keeps a hand around her arm to stop her from going anywhere as he approaches the scene where the two beasts were fighting.

The dead body is so close that he doesn't want to take Safaa over to it, but he has to. The ground underneath the spot is torn up by their claws and their bodies hitting it repeatedly, but there's something else left behind. He bends down, chilled despite the fact that he's sweating profusely, and picks up the shredded piece of a red and gold stripped tie. He swallows, pockets it, and then focuses on getting them out of there.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

**Liam**

He doesn't know who moved Harry's truck, but it's far from the party when he finds it. He was far from the party before, too, chasing after that thing, trying to figure out where it went, stop it from getting too close to anyone again. It's far gone, though, and Liam hasn't been able to pick up it's trail for a while now.

That still sounds weird in his head; it wasn't even a conscious thing, following the scent of blood and woods and something distinctly human and identifiable, but he knew that if he kept following it, it would lead him to the other 'wolf. Except it had ended abruptly at a creek. He hasn't caught wind of it anywhere near the party again, at least.

Niall stops him before he gets too close to the trunk. "Where's Zayn?" he demands, eyes fever bright. He's clutching a gun in his hand, and Liam wants to ask him where he got it but he figures he wouldn't get an answer.

In the distance, he hears the police sirens, knows they're splitting up the party, getting everyone home safe. He'll do the same as soon as he can. Right now, he needs to find out why all he can smell this close to the truck is blood.

"He's fine," Liam snaps, trying to push past him. Niall cocks the gun and points it at him. It's an empty threat, he knows, but he still stops and answers the question more fully. "He and Safaa got out safe. I made sure. I followed them. They're in the car."

Nodding, Niall lets him through.

He tries to jump into the back of the truck. He's got a hand on the side, ready to take the leap, but suddenly there's a pair of blinding blue eyes filling his vision, and Louis growls down at him, teeth barred. Liam doesn't even think before growling right back, much louder, and Louis makes a pathetic sound before shrinking back, features returning to something that better resembles his normal self, though there's definitely something  _not right_  with his face still.

Harry was not the one who moved his truck, he finds out. Harry wouldn't have been able to, considering the fact that he's unconscious. There's blood, too, but not as much of it as he'd thought there'd be, given the way it seems to cloud out all the other smells.

"He ran right in as soon as he heard the screams," Louis explains in a rush. He's bending over Harry, something decidedly possessive in the stance. Liam ignores it and kneels down beside his best friend. "He, um, tried to help, I think, but then it just— it came out of nowhere. Jumped him. He should be fine, I think." Louis stops to swallow, words getting thicker the more he spoke. "Needs to get the hospital, but I wasn't sure— I mean, he—,"

"What happened?" Liam asks calmly, brushing Harry's curls off his face. He's pale under the moonlight, skin smooth and cream coloured.

Louis lifts Harry's shirt. Underneath, there's a long gash in his stomach. It's not thick, not fatal he thinks (and he should know, considering his mother's a nurse, but he never really paid attention to that stuff and now he's wishing he had), but it's bleeding pretty badly.

"So there were two of them," Liam guesses. "You chased this one off, right?"

Recovering Harry's stomach, Louis nods tightly. "I didn't even think to  _not_. It's like— I just had to. I lost him, though. I don't know if he went back or not. I was too busy trying to get Harry somewhere safe."

"I'm glad you did," Liam says. "Now give me your phone."

Louis blinks in confusion but, a moment later, he pulls his phone out and hands it to Liam. He finds Zayn's number easily and presses 'talk'. It takes too long for him to answer, precious seconds that Liam spends wondering if maybe he was wrong, and Zayn and Safaa are not okay.

But he does answer with a breathless, " _Liam_."

"Zayn," Liam says softly. "You're okay. Is— Safaa's okay, too?"

"We're at home," Zayn says. "I'm sorry I didn't stick around. I couldn't find you, and she was freaking out, and— I just left. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says sincerely. "I'm glad you got the two of you out of here. I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah." His voice is rough and quiet, almost as if he's trying not to cry. "I have to go, though."

"Okay, but—,"

"Thank you, Liam," Zayn says, and then he hangs up.

He looks down at the phone for longer than he should, but eventually he passes it back to Louis, who's still fretting over Harry in a way that really baffles him. He's never once, in the years they've all known each other, seen Louis give a single shit about Harry Styles. And yet…

"We can take him to the hospital now," Louis says finally.

"We should have taken him straight away," Liam says, standing up.

Louis' eyes narrow. "Well we couldn't have. I didn't want anyone touching him, okay?"

"'s true," Niall offers from where he's standing on one of the tires to look into the back of the truck. "Wouldn't let me even touch this thing with him in the back. Possessive little shit."

"Why?" Liam asks Louis.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Liam," Louis snaps. He tugs a set of keys out of Harry's pants and throws them. Liam catches them easily. "Now get in the cab and  _drive_."

It isn't until they're halfway to the hospital, Harry still in the back with Louis, Niall in the cab with him, that he realizes what kind of shape he's in. Or, Niall realizes it and points it out to him.

His sweater and the shirt underneath are pretty much hanging off him in strips, having been raked through with thick claws. Underneath, the wounds he'd gotten are already healing, but they're still bloody and scabbed and noticeable, too noticeable for him to bring Harry inside. His cheek and neck have been cut, too, but they must have been shallow, since there's nothing but a streak of crusted, dried blood to let him know that they were even there in the first place. The funny thing is, he doesn't feel a thing. Hadn't at the time, either. All he knows is that he could hear it, a too familiar heartbeat, racing with panic, and he'd followed it until he found them, and from there everything is a haze of red. He'd just— attacked. Not them, obviously, but to  _protect_  them. That was all that had been important. His own wounds were not.

"So he's bitten at least four people," Niall says quietly. "You, Louis, the one you went after, and the one Louis went after." He turns to Liam. "Or were there more in the maze?"

"I only picked up on two," Liam answers. He's gripping the steering wheel so tightly that he's puncturing the cover with his nails. He'll buy Harry a new one. "There could have been more, I'm not sure, but I don't think there was."

"He needs to be stopped," Niall grinds out. "He needs to be stopped before more people get bit or killed. Anymore attacks and it'll draw more attention. More hunters will come into town to try to wipe them out. Right now, this is bad. It could get a hell of a lot worse, though."

Liam nods, and he finds himself saying, "Tonight was planned. That attack, it wasn't coincidental. It was planned." He knows he's right as soon as he says it.

"I think you're right," Niall agrees. "Which means that none of it was random, then. If this was planned, it was probably  _all_  planned. Who he bit, when he bit them,  _why_  he bit them. There's got to be a reason, or a pattern. Something. A motive, maybe. If we can figure it out, we could figure out who the alpha is. Find him when he's human, when he's less dangerous."

"And then we kill him," Liam states. It should bother him more, discussing taking someone else's life. And it does bother him, to an extent, but he knows it's the only option they have.

"And then we kill him," Niall confirms.

 

—

 

Two deaths and four people who received nearly fatal wounds is the total victim count, not including Harry. Harry, who is fine, other than the bandages covering his stomach. Not that Liam was allowed to see him when he was in the hospital, not looking the way he had. He had to sit outside and wait while Louis brought him in.

The local news is claiming it's an animal attack. The only witnesses they have seem to back that up, too, except each and every one of them claims that the animal had glowing eyes. Of course, that part is being dismissed as a Halloween prank and none of them are taken seriously.

Still, Monday at school, only about twenty students attend. Everyone else is either using what happened at the party to get a day off school, or their parents are keeping them home until the local police catch the animal that did the attacks, or until they deem the city safe again. Liam's mum happens to be one of the second ones, but he has no idea how to explain to her that they're in just as much danger being at home as they are at school or anywhere else. And when she leaves for work that morning, he gets ready for school and waits for Zayn in the kitchen.

Except Zayn doesn't come. He realizes, after he's already ten minutes late to his first class and he's only halfway there on foot, that Zayn probably won't be going today. Sure, his parents know what's  _really_  out there, so it won't be because they're afraid of the attacks. It'll be because they're probably looking to find what caused the attacks so they can take it down.

But when he gets to school, Zayn's car is in the lot, between Louis' Porsche and Harry's truck. The lot is mostly empty aside from those three cars, which makes him shudder for unknown reasons.

His teacher doesn't even bat an eyelash when he gets into class late. He takes seat near the back, the fact that there's only four other kids in this class today not lost on him. His next class is like that, too, more than half of the seats empty. At lunch, the cafeteria is like a dead zone. There's only three tables occupied, one of which his friend's are sitting at.

Zayn's not there, but that's because Zayn's eating in his car. Liam knows this because he could see him out the window when he was walking to the cafeteria. He wants to go out there, wants to know what's wrong, but he has a feeling that Zayn would rather be left alone right now and he'll respect that.

He feels that way all week, apparently. By Wednesday, Harry is the one out front, waiting to give him a ride to school again. And Zayn's car will be in the lot when he gets there, but Zayn will be inside. And then at lunch he'll spend the whole period outside, coming out only when the bell rings. In class, he sits near the front of the room, far enough away that Liam can't talk to him, ask him what he did wrong or if there's anything he can do to fix it, and Zayn's out of his seat as soon as class if over, disappearing down the hall.

It hurts, is the thing. Maybe it would hurt less if he knew what he did, but he has absolutely no idea why he's getting the cold shoulder from Zayn. Niall doesn't know, either, but apparently he and Zayn still talk in their classes. Louis, too. It's just Liam that he's avoiding completely.

If Zayn really wants nothing to do with him, that's fine. He'll get over it. But he wants an explanation. He thinks he deserves that, at least; doesn't he?

When he gets home Friday after a short shift at the bowling alley, his mum is off work and the whole house smells like roasted vegetables. He grins, kicks off his shoes and makes his way into the kitchen, saying, "It smells great in here, mum," as he goes.

He stops dead in the kitchen. His mum is at the stove, checking on what looks like a pot roast, her hair pulled back, an apron on. Zayn's at the kitchen table, sipping coffee with his eyes downcast, like he doesn't want to look at Liam.

"What— what are you doing here?" he asks, not moving farther into the room.

His mother looks up, a bright, slightly stressed look on her face. "I invited him," she says. "He came by to see if you were home, and I thought it'd be nice to have someone else to cook for, for once. You don't mind, I'm sure."

Zayn looks up at this, as if he's asking Liam the same thing. "No, I don't mind," he says.

"Lovely," his mother says. "Zayn was just telling me about the A you got on you got on your English project."

He'd honestly forgotten all about it in the chaos of everything else. "Right. Zayn did most of it, though. I wouldn't have gotten nearly as good of a mark on my own."

"That's not true," Zayn says. "You worked really hard on that."

Liam frowns at him. "Mum, do you think we could go sit in the living room until dinner's done?"

"Sure, sweetie," his mother says. "Should be about twenty minutes. And you stay in the living room, or you keep your door open if you go upstairs."

"Alright," Liam says, placating her. "We'll be in my room, then."

Zayn gets up, leaving his coffee behind. He follows Liam up the stairs and into his bedroom, where Liam shuts the door anyways. He'll hear his mum if she comes up the stairs. He just doesn't want her to hear them.

He heads straight for the desk in the corner, sinking onto the chair while Zayn perches on the edge of his bed. He must have changed after school, since he's not wearing the same sweater and jeans from then. Now he's in a leather jacket, a white undershirt and darker jeans. His hair is flattened, too, and it looks so soft that he wants to cross the room and run his fingers through it. He doesn't.

Liam watches as he pulls something out of his pocket, something small. He recognizes it after a moment, the same material and colours of the tie he'd been wearing that night.

"Where'd you get that?" he asks.

Zayn looks up at him, a wry smile on his face. "Found it," he answers. He turns it over and over before laying it flat on Liam's bed beside him. "In the maze. See, I was in there with Safaa, and we stumbled across this— this dead body. And then there was this thing there. And it, uh, it was going to come after us, but another one came out of nowhere and attacked it, got it away from us. And afterwards, it left this behind." He raises his eyebrows. "Did you lend your tie to someone that night, Liam?"

"I—," he can't think of anything else to say.

Standing up, Zayn gets closer to him. "Tell me you did, Liam," he pleads. "Tell me I'm wrong, please, because I want to be wrong. I want to be wrong so fucking badly." He's right in front of Liam now, and he seems impossibly tall from where Liam's sitting on the chair. "Tell me. Tell me!"

Instead, he ducks his head; he'd rather do anything than look into Zayn's eyes right now. "I can't."

He expects Zayn to shove him. Honestly, Zayn looks like he's considering it, lifts his hands to do it, too, but he ends up stumbling backwards instead, shaking his head. "No," he says quietly. "That's— that's not  _fair_. I  _liked_  you."

"Liked?" Liam asks. "Past tense?"

"I  _kissed_  you. I let you into my house, with my sisters and—  _fuck_ , it was so obvious. I'm so fucking stupid."

"Zayn," he says, standing up, but Zayn seems to think that move was aggressive because something dangerous flashes in his eyes and he digs his hand into the pocket of his leather jacket again. Now that he's looking for it, Liam can see the outline of the knife there.

"Don't come near me," he spits. "Don't— don't  _ever_  come near me again, Liam."

He doesn't. He lets Zayn go. Hears him practically run down the stairs and then out the front door. A beat later his mum calls, "Where'd your friend go?"

Liam slams his bedroom door and ducks into the bathroom, running the water. He locks the door, too, to keep her from coming in and demanding to know what happened.

He runs the water hot enough to scald, but he barely winces when he steps under the spray. His nails dig into the tiled wall, and he knows he's going to have to explain to his mother later what the fuck he did to his shower, but right now all he can focus on is calming himself down.

The shower does little to help. He feels almost like he does before the full moon. He's on edge, too energized to sit still, head racing and pulse thundering in his ears. He towels off, tugs on a clean pair of boxers and his sweatpants, and then he searches his drawers for a clean shirt but he can't find one. He spots his laundry hamper in the corner, realizes that, in the midst of everything else, he's forgotten to do laundry.

"Fuck," he grinds out, slamming the drawer. And then he decides that he doesn't care. He heads for his window, throws it open and swings his legs over the sill.

It's a fairly far drop, but he doesn't even think before he lets go and falls to the ground. His feet tingle for a second from the impact but he's fine. Almost as soon as he lands, he takes off, cutting through the woods.

Zayn's parents are home. He can hear them inside, though he can't pick up on the exact words they're saying. His sister are, too, he thinks, but he's not planning on knocking on the door anyways. No, he's got a better idea. He knows which room is Zayn's, can see the light on inside. He can see Zayn's shadow, too, and figures he's pacing around the room, by the looks of it.

The roof over the garage is close to his window, so Liam takes one quick look around to make sure no one will see him, and then he jumps. He's not as quiet as he'd like to be, and once he finds purchase and gets himself up, he stops and listens. Everything sounds normal, life inside the house continuing the way it had been before he'd jumped.

Zayn's window is open, but there's a screen covering it. He could rip it without any effort, but instead he knocks on the glass. Zayn, inside, freezes. He was pacing, just like Liam thought, and he looks a hundred times more exhausted than he had earlier. His hair is a mess, his clothes look like they've been tugged at too much, stretched and hanging off his thin frame. And the smell of cigarettes is strong in the air, like he's lit them, one after another without taking a break in between.

It takes a while for Zayn to get over to the window. When he does, he leans heavily on the frame, knuckles white. "What do you want?" he asks. "Are you  _stupid_ , Liam? What are doing here?"

"I came to talk to you," Liam admits.

"My parents are right downstairs," he hisses. "All I'd have to do is call and—,"

"So call them," Liam says. "Be my guest, if it'll make you feel better."

Zayn glares at him for that, but he pops the screen out of his window and takes a step back. Liam takes that as an invitation, dropping easily into the room. It looks just as empty and impersonal as it had the last time he'd been here, and he'd be willing to bet everything he owns that Zayn's boxes are still in the closet, packed away.

Keeping a wide berth of him, Zayn makes his way to the other side of the room. He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "There's a knife in my pocket," he says. "So don't try anything."

"Or you'd— what, stab me?" Liam snorts. "You know I'm not going to hurt you."

"I don't know that, actually," Zayn says coldly. "Maybe you won't right now, but all you have to do is get a little angry, a little upset and suddenly you'd be— you wouldn't be you, and you  _would_  hurt me. You will. You'll hurt a lot of people, Liam. That's why we kill your kind." He stops for a second. "But you already know about that, right? You know what my family is. Is that why you were—? Were you trying to get close to me to—,"

He tries to take a step closer to Zayn, but the other boy tenses at the move. He stops and sighs, crossing his arms defensively over his chest. "I wouldn't do that, and you know it," Liam says. "Hell, I tried to stay away from you because of it! I just— I couldn't."

"Yeah, and I'm supposed to believe that." Zayn rolls his eyes. "Right."

Throwing caution to the wind, he crosses the room in three easy strides. He expects Zayn to move, to maybe attack him, but instead he stays stock still, back pressed tightly against the wall, head tipped back against it, holding his breath. He puts a hand on Zayn's arm and those eyes — like honey swirled with chocolate right now— fall closed as Zayn lets out a shaky sigh.

"I didn't ask for this," Liam says softly. He needs Zayn to get that. "And I haven't hurt  _anyone_. I  _won't_. Especially not you."

Zayn shakes his head. "I wish you were right, but you're not."

"How do you know that you are?" he asks. "I'm in control of myself, Zayn. Maybe— maybe not as much as I'd like, but enough that I wouldn't hurt anyone. Ever."

It's true. In fact, he's never felt so sure of that as he is right now. He feels calm, that restless feeling that takes over sometimes gone completely. Zayn doesn't know that, though, and he says, "You can't be sure. You can't always be sure of that."

He watches his nails sharpen around Zayn's arm, feels razor edged teeth press into his bottom lip, lets the red take over his vision. He can only guess what he looks like right now. He's never really looked at himself in the mirror when he's like this, but Harry always laughs at him.

"Zayn," he says as calmly as he can, though the words come out more like a growl than anything. "Look at me."

And he does. His eyes widen and his heart rate speeds up to the point where Liam's almost sure he's going to have a heart attack. But he doesn't scream for his parents, or push Liam away from him. Instead he lifts a hand and gently brushes it over Liam's brow, and then his cheeks and his jaw before finally ending with his lips, concealing a once again human set of teeth. The red slips away and everything comes back into focus again.

"I'm not going to hurt  _anyone_ ," Liam says softly, but his words aren't any less firm.

"I want you to leave," he says when he's done. He drops his hand to his side. "Please go, Liam."

If that's what he wants, Liam respects that. "Okay." He nods and takes a step back.

"And don't come back here," he adds. He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. "Next time I won't let you explain first."

He leaves, taking the window again. Just before he jumps to the ground, he chances one look back at Zayn, almost expecting him to be standing in the open window, crossbow in his hand like that night when he'd been shot by it. Instead he finds Zayn still against the wall, but this time he's on the floor, head in his hands. Liam doesn't look back again.

 

—

 

His mother is frantically pacing around the house when he gets home. There's three plates of food on the table, as well as the home phone and a phone book. It looks like she's ripped out quite a few pages, and her hair has fallen out of it's bun and now hangs in a bad rendition of a ponytail.

"Liam," she breathes when he walks through the door. She runs at him and pulls him into a tight hug before pounding a fist on each of his shoulders. "How  _dare you_. What were you  _thinking_? I thought something happened! I thought you  _died_."

"Mum," he says, grabbing her arms. "I'm  _fine_. I'm okay. I was at Zayn's."

"Oh, and that's supposed to make it okay," she snaps. "It doesn't, by the way. It does not at  _all_. You are so, so grounded, do you hear me? No cellphone, no television, no computer. Oh, and curfew. You're in by five every night. That's it. After what happened the other night, I thought you'd be a bit more considerate of the fact that I  _worry about you_ , but I was wrong, apparently."

"I know you worry," Liam sighs out. "I wouldn't have left if it wasn't important. I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, young man," his mother says fiercely. "Now you sit and eat your dinner, and then you're going to go up to your room. And if you sneak out that window again, I'll put bars on it."

"You're going to make me a prisoner in my own house?" he asks, trying not to let his lips twitch up.

She stutters for a moment before saying, "If that's what it takes!" rather shrilly. She guides him forcefully into the kitchen and shoves him down onto a chair before pulling a plate of cold food towards him. "Eat," she orders. "All of it, then bed."

It's still good, even if it's cold, but he doesn't get to finish before she's tugging the last quarter of it away and tossing the plate in the sink. She leans against it for a while, head ducked, hair falling into her face. "You're all I have," she says softly. "And when I went upstairs and found your window open, and then you didn't come back for over an  _hour_ , I thought—" She cuts off, shaking her head. "Just don't do it again, Liam, please."

He goes and hugs her tightly, his chest hurting at the thickness of her voice. He just keeps hurting everyone he cares about, doesn't he? "I really am sorry," he tells her. "And I won't do it again."

She nods mutely and points at the stairs. He kisses her cheek before heading up them and into his room. He shuts his window, for good measure, and then falls into bed with his clothes still on, too tired to get undressed.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

Most of his weekend is spent thinking about Liam, unsurprisingly. He's got a lot of mixed feelings, apparently. He tells himself that he hardly knows the guy. It's true, he really doesn't. What does he know about Liam? And what of that is actually true? What if it was all just an act? Liam says it's not, but then, can he really believe that, given what he'd hidden from Zayn? Given what he  _is_?

He remembers his first impression of Liam. Not the one in class; the one at the bowling alley. He'd thought that Liam was the least frightening person he'd ever met. That he seemed incapable of ever hurting anyone. He'd seemed almost perfectly sweet after that, too, like this wonderful person in a world of really shitty people. And now that's ruined.

The thing is, he should have known. He should have put the pieces together. Now that he  _does_  know, it's so glaringly obvious that he feels like an idiot. He spent fifteen minutes searching through his dirty laundry until he could find the jeans he'd worn that day over at Liam's, and then he'd spent five minutes running his fingers over the rips in the thigh from Liam's nail. Fuck, how had he not realized right then? If he had opened his eyes when they were kissing, would the ones looking back at him of been like melted chocolate, sweet and rich, or would they have been glowing gold?

That he spends a lot of time thinking about, too. The fact that he'd never been that close to one of them before. Close enough to shoot, sure, but he's never touched one. Never had one get close enough to touch him. And Liam had touched him. Had set his skin on fire with his lips and his fingertips, and Zayn had loved it, had wanted more. Now, he has no idea what he wants.

Logically, he should tell his parents. He knows this, too, and he wants to. A part of him does, at least. But there's a part that reminds him of what could happen to Liam if he did, and does he want  _that_? No. No, he doesn't, though he  _should_. He should because, now that he thinks of it, Liam was the one who'd come after him that night in the woods, the one he'd shot with the arrow, right in the leg on the full moon. He's  _dangerous_ , he's proven that.

It's like he's running in circles with his head cut off. He keeps going over the same things, arguing with himself over and over. And in the end, he doesn't do anything. He stays in his room, skips dinner on Saturday but sneaks downstairs early in the morning and eats before crashing all day Sunday. By the time he's driving to school on Monday, he realizes he's got to do  _something_ , he just doesn't know  _what_.

He passes Liam in the hall several times, and Louis, too. It isn't until he stops and meets Louis' eyes that he realizes Liam isn't the only one hiding from him. And when he sits next to Niall in class, he realizes they've all been hiding it from him. They've all known this whole time, and Zayn's the last one to get it.

At lunch, he stomps over to their table, grabs Liam's arm and drags him out of the room, ignoring Harry, who calls after them and tries to follow until Louis tugs him back into his seat.

He has no idea where to go, and in the end he pulls Liam into the boy's washroom and kicks everyone else out. There's a lock on the door, one that it takes effort to turn but he manages, and then he faces Liam, arms crossed over his chest.

"Niall and Louis know, then," he states, eyebrows raising.

Liam licks his lips. He hates that, hates the way they get all shiny and pink and soft looking because it's enticing and distracting and he  _hates it_. "Yeah," he admits. "They found out recently."

"And no one was ever going to tell me," Zayn realizes. "Were you? Were  _any_ of you, or were you just going to hide it from me forever?"

"That was the plan," Liam says, words clipped.

Zayn's lips curl up in what he knows is probably an unpleasant sneer. But then he stops to think, brow furrowing. "Why does Louis know?" he asks. "Why would Louis have anything to do with this?"

Liam's eyes widen and he shifts, taking a step back. "I— we— we thought we should tell him. Because he hangs out with us. And—,"

"He was bit," Zayn guesses. "That's why he hangs out with you and Harry now."

"No," Liam says quickly. "No, I'm the only one."

"Can you stop lying to me for five seconds?" he snaps. It's just too much, it's all too much on him. He can't deal with any of this. He wishes he hadn't found out. He'd of been happier never knowing. He leans his head back against the wall and swallows. "Do you know why my parents train me?" he asks.

Liam shakes his head. "I figured it's just what hunters do, right? They teach their kids to be like them."

Zayn shakes his head, too. That's the case with some hunting families, but not his. "My parents didn't want to," he explains. "It's just that, in this life, you don't have a choice. They're hunters, and we're in danger by association. So they taught us to take care of ourselves, taught us everything they knew so that we'd be safe. Except— except my sister, Doniya. She hated it. Hated hunting, hated training. She did everything in her power to fight my parents on this." A confused look comes over Liam's face. "Yeah, Doniya. You don't know her. Never will, either, because she didn't listen to my parents when they told her how dangerous your kind is."

"What happened to her?" Liam asks cautiously. He looks seconds away from touching Zayn, as if to console him, so Zayn presses himself farther against the wall to stay as far from him as he can.

"She's gone." He doesn't like to think about it, and none of them have talked about it in so long. He can't remember the last time he's heard someone say her name out loud. It's not something that happens in their household, and they move so often that it's not like anyone else knows who she was. "She was dating this guy for a while, and it turns out he was one of you. My parents found out, but it was obvious that she really cared about him, you know? And he seemed like a good guy, until—" He stops, doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

"I'm sorry," Liam says. He genuinely looks it, too.

"It's whatever," he says with a wave of his hand. It's easier to brush it off than think about it. "The thing is, I should know better, right? I should learn by example. But fuck, history's repeating itself, isn't it? And I don't know what to do, because part of me thinks I should tell my parents, let them handle this, but then the other part of me— it can't."

"Why not?"

_Because I don't want to see you get hurt,_  he thinks. "Because I don't want your blood on my hands," he says. "I know you now, and I'd feel guilty about it. Probably."

Liam steps closer to him. "That's it. That's the only reason."

He nods mutely as Liam gets closer.

"There's no other reason," Liam says, voice low. "Nothing at all."

"No," Zayn says firmly.

"We're really bad for each other," Liam says calmly. He places a hand on the wall on either side of Zayn's head and leans in. "We're both compulsive liars, apparently."

Instead of admitting to that, he fists a hand in Liam's shirt and pulls him in. "We're such a cliché," he mutters against Liam's lips. "You get that, right? That we're something straight out of a really shitty young adult novel?"

Liam chuckles against his jaw. "You know, I was always team Jacob."

Zayn groans. "Please tell me you haven't read those books," he says as Liam's lips move down his neck. For a second his pulse picks up and he panics a little. How stupid is it to let a werewolf's teeth that close to your jugular? But Liam's lips are so soft and perfectly slick and warm. "If you've read them, but you haven't read all of Harry Potter—,"

"Only seen the movies," Liam assures him. His voice is low, rough, and Zayn wonders if he's wolfing out right now. Wonders if he should be scared. He really isn't. He's so stupid. "Harry forced me to. Literally. He threatened to tie me down and everything."

Laughing, Zayn rubs a hand down Liam's chest, over the hard muscles there. "Good," he gasps out when Liam's teeth scrape against his skin. A shiver runs through him, one that seems to go straight to his dick. He can't even help it.

Liam pulls back abruptly. His eyes go from brown to gold in record time, and they narrow dangerously. "Who touched you?" he demands.

Zayn blinks at him, on edge. "Liam, calm down."

Shaking his head, Liam leans in and nuzzles his chest. Or, that's what it seems like, except he can hear Liam breathing in, inhaling deeply. "Who touched you?" he asks again. His eyes aren't gold anymore, but they're still narrowed. "Zayn,  _who touched you_?"

"I—  _no one_ ," he says. "Why?"

"You smell like," Liam leans down again and inhales, eyes closing, "one of us. Not me. Not Louis, either."

He pushes Liam away. "That's not possible."

"You do," Liam insists. His nose wrinkles. "I don't like it. Take it off, Zayn." He tugs at Zayn's sweater, impatient. " _Off_."

With shaking hands, Zayn does just that. His mind is whirling, though. If Liam's right— one of them was close enough to him to touch him. To leave their scent on him. He tries to think of everyone he's been near today.

There was breakfast with his parents and Niall and Clark, who have been over at the house obsessively, his father and Clark constantly in the basement, trying to formulate some kind of plan. And then he'd driven to school, and he'd brushed against people in the hallway. So many people, too many to keep track of. It could have been any of them, really. And it could have been an accident, but it might not of been. Maybe they knew, like Liam knew about him, and they were playing with him. Trying to scare him.

Liam takes the balled up sweater, and Zayn doesn't miss the fact that his nails are clawed around it. He takes a long look at Zayn's face, though, and then he wraps his arms around him. "Hey," he says softly. "You're okay."

"I know," Zayn admits. "I just — I don't like it, either. I don't like the thought of one of them getting that close to me."

"What about me?" He asks it offhandedly, like he doesn't care about the answer, but his arms tighten considerably around Zayn as if he can't help it.

"You're different," Zayn admits. He hates that it's true, doesn't want it to be, but there it is. You can hate yourself for feeling something, but that doesn't make the feeling any less real.

Liam pulls back and kisses his cheek. "Come on," he says, unlocking the door. "We're going to deal with this."

He lets Liam guide him, with a hand on the small of his back, to the cafeteria. He tosses the sweater to Louis as soon as they sit down, and Louis grabs it easily before wrinkling his nose. "Who's is this?" he asks.

"Zayn's," Liam answers for him.

Louis' eyes widen. "It smells like—,"

"I  _know_ ," Liam agrees. "Does it smell like the one you chased after on Halloween?"

Bringing the garment up to his face again, Louis sniffs it once more. It's so weird to watch. He takes small little sniffs, almost like a dog who's greeted with a new person that they don't know. It's inhuman, is what it is.

"No," Louis says finally. "It's not."

"So either we're dealing with three betas now," Liam says slowly, "or the alpha's gotten close enough to touch him."

They're all quiet after that. Zayn grabs Liam's hand, squeezing hard because he's sort of freaking out, just a little bit. How did it touch him without him noticing? That's what's getting to him. He doesn't like that he didn't know. He doesn't like not knowing things. It makes him feel lost, and he hates feeling lost more than anything.

"What are we going to do?" Harry asks, breaking the silence.

"Nothing we can do," Louis says. "Not right now, anyways. We have school. Afterwards—,"

"We'll meet up," Niall says. "At Harry's. We need to deal with this. We need to find this guy. If they're getting bored enough to play with us like this, it's only a matter of time before they really attack. And not like on Halloween. This is too coincidental. It wasn't an accident. They wanted us to know. They want to freak us out."

"Are we going to tell my parents and your uncle, then?" Zayn asks.

Niall gives him a disbelieving look. "No, we're not. They'd want to kill half of us first." He shakes his head. "We're going to deal with this ourselves. It's the only way."

He has no idea what he's doing, but he's apparently teaming up with werewolves now, because he finds himself nodding in agreement.

"Change of subject," Louis says abruptly. "This is creeping me out. Let's talk about — oh, let's talk about the fact that you stink, Niall. Seriously."

Niall makes a face at him as Liam chuckles and puts in, "He does. I was thinking it, too, but I didn't want to say anything."

"Fuck off," Niall grumbles, stabbing a sausage on his plate. "My uncle did my laundry and he's using this new detergent. I caked on the body spray but it didn't make a difference."

And, just like that, it's easy to forget about the rest of it and pretend like they're all just a normal group of teenagers who make fun of each other and joke around and don't have to worry about things like psychotic, supernatural serial killers.

 

—

 

He's heard a lot about Harry's parents from his own, and people like them. His mum refers to them as some sort of 'supernatural experts' or something, but his dad refers to them less kindly as 'traitors of their own race'. He thinks they're wrong because they aid werewolves and others like them. Zayn had agreed with that until now, when he's sort of doing the same thing.

So he's expecting some kind of hippy like person who believes that everyone's equal, even those of us who spouts fangs and fur at the full moon. Instead he gets a pretty woman in a business suit with her hair pulled back in a tight bun.

"Hey, mum," Harry says when they all pile into the house. "We're heading up to my room."

She comes out of the kitchen and grins at them. "Do you need snacks?" she asks. "Or drinks, or—," her eyes fall to Zayn and she freezes. "Who's this?"

"Mum, this is Zayn. Zayn, this is my mum," Harry introduces.

Just like that day in the cafeteria, when he'd introduced himself to Harry, his mum's pleasant expression morphs into one of guarded hostility. "Zayn," she repeats. "As in—,"

"Yeah, I know," Harry says with a wave. "Just go with it. That's what I'm doing."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Zayn," she says. "If you guys need anything, just let me know."

"We're good," Harry says.

He leads them up a flight of stairs into a tiny bedroom. Niall heads for the computer desk and sits in it, turning around and around until it makes Zayn dizzy. Louis, on the other hand, jumps onto the bed and stretches out. It's a single, too small for anyone else to sit on with him spread out like that, so Liam sinks to the floor against the door, and Harry sits with his back against the bed. Zayn sits down next to Liam.

"I`ve been thinking," Louis starts, but he stops when Harry and Niall both groan. "Go fuck yourselves," he says. "Anyways, like I was saying before those two rudely interrupted, I've been thinking." He points at Zayn. "Your parents came here because of the attacks, right?"

Zayn nods. "Clark called and informed us that there was a werewolf problem here, and he wasn't having any luck dealing with it himself. We're back-up, technically."

Louis nods. "That's what I thought. But, after the Halloween party, I got to thinking. What if they  _wanted_  this to happen?"

Everyone looks at him with confused expressions.

"Huh?" Harry says.

Louis rolls his eyes as if he can't believe how stupid they are all. "I'm just saying, what if they  _wanted_  you to get called here? What if this was all a plan to get your family here?" He raises his eyebrows when no one reacts to these words. "Okay, think about it. How many werewolves have your parents killed? Just guesstimate here."

"A lot," Zayn says after a moment of consideration. "More than a few."

"But they work in packs, right?" Louis pushes. "Do they always wipe out the whole pack?"

"No," he admits. "Sometimes pack members get away."

" _Exactly_!" Louis claps his hands together, sitting up quickly. "Think about it. They've got to have a lot of enemies, right? Who's to say that someone doesn't want revenge? And then on the full moon, Liam, you said that something  _made you_  want to attack Zayn, right?"

He turns to Liam at this. They haven't spoken about that night, but he'd already had a feeling that this was the case. "Right," he says, drawing it out. "I didn't have a choice. I couldn't— couldn't control myself. Someone else was. It was like I was told what to do, and I didn't have any choice but to do it."

"You were being compelled," Niall explains. "It happens, when you're changed. The alpha has an amount of control over his pack members."

"But I'm not his pack member," Liam argues.

"Not by choice, but you sort of are," Niall tells him, sounding regretful. "He bit you. That's just the way it works."

"That's not important right now," Louis says, drawing attention back to himself. "Just think about it, guys. It makes sense. Why else would they go after Zayn's family? They've never went after Niall and Clark, right, but they're technically hunters too. They've had a lot of opportunities. But you were here, what, a week and they were attacking your family?"

The worst part of it is that Louis' making sense. What if they really were lured here? What if Clark calling them had been  _exactly_  what the werewolves wanted?

"That doesn't help, though," Zayn points out. "We might know what they're planning, but it doesn't help us find out who they are, or catch them."

"No, it does," Niall says, eyes wide. "Your parents keep records, right? All hunting families do."

"Records?" Harry asks. "Like—,"

"They keep records of everything," Niall says. "Like what creatures they've come across, different plants and shit that they're susceptible to, but also any research they've done. And they tend to keep track of their kills, too."

It dawns on him then. "My dad's office."

"It's got to be in there," Niall says. "You need to check."

"Okay, but what then? Like I said, the list of their kills is long."

"We'll have to narrow it down," Harry says. "We can do it, though. If you can get us the records, we'll have somewhere to start. And I know everyone in town, so if any of the names add up, we might just get lucky."

He doesn't like it. He doesn't lie to his parents about much, and this feels like a betrayal. Not to mention the fact that he's already betraying them as he sits there in a room with two werewolves, hand in hand with one of them.

"Okay," he agrees anyways. "I'll see what I can do."

They stay at Harry's for a while after that. They each pitch in — though Louis pays for most of it— to get pizza, and they end up playing Xbox until the sky outside his window gets dark. He offers to drive Liam home, and Louis offers to take Niall.

When they're out front of his house, Liam hesitates on his way out the door. "We're okay?" he asks.

Zayn shrugs. "We're fine."

A hand cups his jaw and turns his head. "You know what I mean," Liam says. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Zayn replies.

Liam drops his hand and sighs. "You're still afraid of me. I can hear your heart pounding."

Stupidly enough, he's really not. "That's not because I'm afraid of you," Zayn admits, cheeks going red.

Frowning, Liam asks, "Then why?"

Zayn resolutely stares out the window, still flushed. He's not going to say it out loud, okay? He's not proud of the way he reacts to Liam. It's not controllable, though, or he would definitely fucking stop it.

"Oh," Liam says, realizing. He doesn't have to look to know that Liam's grinning. " _Oh_."

"Don't sound so smug," Zayn scolds.

Lips press gently to his cheek before Liam whispers, "Night, Zayn," in his ear, hot breath tickling his skin. He's gone before Zayn can even turn to look at him, or kiss him properly.

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

The moment he steps into Zayn's house, he's tense. No one else is home, his parents and sisters all out, but that's not what has him feeling off. It's the smell. Last time, he hadn't known what to look for. Now, it's everywhere.

"They've been in your house," Liam says slowly, lifting his chin a bit to inhale more.

Zayn's eyebrows draw together as he kicks off his shoes. "Who?"

Liam shakes his head and moves through the house in a way that he normally wouldn't dare, since it's not exactly polite. Being polite isn't important right now.

"In this room, mostly," he says, trying to pull open a door that leads to what he assumes is the basement. It doesn't budge, and there's a keypad on the wall right next to the door. He gives up trying to get inside, but it doesn't matter. He can still pick up the scent through the crack under the door.

" _Who_?" Zayn repeats.

"Werewolves," Liam states. "Or— werewolf. One. That's all I'm picking up right now, at least."

He watches Zayn's face mould into an expression of shock, and then disbelief, ending on fear before he schools it. "Are you sure?"

Liam nods. "Positive. Same smell that was on your sweater. It's everywhere."

Zayn runs a hand through his hair. " _Shit_. Why, though? Why would they— why would they go through the house but not do anything?"

"I don't know," Liam says. "They were here, though. Recently. Like, today. Maybe yesterday."

"I need to tell my parents," Zayn says instantly.

"You can't," Liam reminds him as they make their way towards the stairs. "If you tell them, you have to tell them how you know. You tell them how you know, they figure out that you're hanging out with werewolves. Either they make you tell them who, or they put the pieces together. Either way, you can't."

"I hate this," Zayn mutters, stomping up the stairs. "I fucking hate it. I hate keeping things from them, and I hate the fact that I have to in order keep you safe."

He knows this, he does. And he hates it, too; hates that he's put Zayn in this position. He considers the fact that it would be easier if he would just leave Zayn alone. If he could stop being selfish for five seconds and take a step back. But he doesn't think he could. He doesn't really  _want_  to.

At the top of the stairs, he stops and frowns at the first door. "Can we go in here?" he asks.

Zayn hesitates. "That's Liyha's room."

"I know, but—," he sniffs the air. "Can we just open the door for a second?"

Shrugging, Zayn turns the knob and shoulders the door open. Liam steps up the threshold and inhales before stepping back. The door shuts and they move forward, but he stops again, asking the same thing. This time he steps into the room, closer to the window. And he does it in the next room, and the next, until they're in Zayn's.

"What?" Zayn snaps. He's been holding it in for a while, Liam knows, but he's been waiting for Liam to tell him first.

"Another one," Liam explains, throwing open his window. He leans out it, catches that same woodsy smell that's in the other rooms, but it's different than the one downstairs. There's something else mixed with it, like perfume. Sweet and sharp. "Female."

"There isn't a female beta that we know of," Zayn points out.

"She's been in all the rooms," Liam says after shutting the window again. "She doesn't go in too far, but she's been here more than once. I don't know how I missed it last time, but she's been here often, actually."

Sinking onto the bed, Zayn buries his head in his hands. He breathes slowly, shaky. "I'm just frustrated," he says after a moment. He lifts his head to look at Liam, eyelids drooped, like he's tired. "They're playing with us."

That's what he thinks, too. "I could stay here tonight," Liam offers. He kneels on the ground by Zayn's feet, hand on his thigh. "If you want. I'd hear if anyone comes in, and they might decide not to just because I'm here."

"I can't ask you to do that," Zayn says.

"I  _want_  to," Liam promises. "Fuck, you have no idea what it's like for me to smell them on you. It's driving me crazy."

Zayn's lips twitch. "It's that bad, huh?"

"Yes," he admits. "It's like— I don't know how to explain it."

"You're a possessive fuck, is what it is," Zayn explains for him. "Or, the werewolf side of you is, anyways."

"Maybe," he says grudgingly. He slides a hand up Zayn's neck and curls his fingers into the short hairs there. "Mine."

"I shouldn't like that," Zayn whispers, head ducked. "And I'm pretty sure it's some form of Stockholm syndrome, but…" he trails off, brushing his own hand through the thicker hair on the top of Liam's head. "I can't really help anything when it comes to you, apparently."

Zayn pulls at his hair a bit, guiding him upwards. He goes without a fight, letting Zayn pull him onto the bed, legs on either side of Zayn's waist. "Aren't we supposed to be in your dad's office, looking for those records?" he asks.

"Yep."

"But instead we're going to make-out on your bed."

"Yep."

"That's responsible."

"With the great power of your lips comes great responsibility, Liam," Zayn says against his jaw. "And it's your responsibility to kiss me. So, actually, us kissing is way more important and necessary than looking for those records like we promised everyone."

Liam smiles. "Well, if I  _have_  to…"

"You do," Zayn insists. "In fact, it'd be detrimental for you to not."

He kisses Zayn, maybe to shut him up, maybe just because his lips taste better than anything else.

He's never really done this before, this thing that he's doing with Zayn. He has no idea what the protocol is, if they're going to fast. All he knows is that the only thing better than that lingering taste of strawberries that's always on Zayn's tongue from the gum he chews is the soft moans he gets when he tugs at Zayn's hair or grinds against him.

"We should go on a date," Liam says— or tries to say, but really he moans it because Zayn sucks at his neck. "A real one."

"None of my marks are staying," Zayn pouts. He pokes at Liam's neck. "I don't know if this is a werewolf thing, but I can't give you a hickey."

Liam chuckles and flips them over so Zayn's on top, his hands securely on Zayn's waist to keep him balanced. "Date, Zayn. Focus."

Zayn's hands are flat on his chest, and they get trapped between their bodies when he leans down. "Date. Sure, yeah, whatever." He kisses Liam on the mouth again, tongue pressing insistently against the seam of Liam's lips.

"Seriously," he says, trying to pull back but he can't because he's laying flat on the bed.

"Okay," Zayn says. "I'm sure somewhere between hiding the fact that I'm dating a werewolf from my parents and also taking down an alpha, we'll totally have time to do that."

"We can make time." He squeezes Zayn's waist for emphasis.

"This is really important to you, isn't it?" Zayn pushes himself back up a bit so he can give Liam an inquiring look.

"It is."

He doesn't really know why. It just  _is_. Maybe because it's  _normal_  and they're so  _not_  that he wants them to have this one thing. This one simple, easy,  _right_  thing amidst the rest of it.

"I'll pick you up on Friday at six," Zayn says. "We'll go to dinner and a movie. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Can we kiss again, now?"

They do, until his lips are raw and tingling, and Zayn's breathing is shallow and ragged. Zayn pushes at his shirt until he sits up long enough to pull it off, and then he does the same with Zayn's, tossing it across the room. He's kissing down Zayn's chest, grinning at the way he shivers and goosebumps break out along his skin and he sighs out, " _Liam_."

He's so caught up in it that he doesn't even notice the car pulling into the driveway, or the front door opening. Not until he hears footsteps in the hallway. He sits up, Zayn rolling off him to fall onto the bed.

"Shit," he says, searching for his shirt. "Your dad's here."

"Zayn!"

" _Shit_ ," Zayn says, too, and then he's searching for his shirt, but they can't find it and they're both standing up. "Fuck, hide! Closet, Liam,  _now_."

Liam honestly has no idea why they're hiding him, but it seems like a perfectly reasonable idea so he sprints to the closet, pulls it open and shuts it just as Zayn's door opens.

"Thought you were home," he hears Zayn's dad say.

Just as he'd thought last time, Zayn's boxes are piled in the closet. There's clothing hung up, too, but it seems that all Zayn's unpacked is his wardrobe. He wonders why, wants to ask about it, but he sort of can't right now.

"Yeah, I'm just, um, taking a nap," Zayn says, yawning for emphasis. "Did you need something?"

"I was just running up here to get my chequebook," his father explains. "There's something wrong with your mother's car and it's going to cost a fair bit to get it fixed."

"She didn't crash, did she?"

"No, it just wouldn't start."

"That sucks," Zayn says in a clipped tone. "But I'm going to go back to napping, so."

"Alright, I'll leave you to that."

The bedroom door opens and closes again, and he waits for a second, wanting to be sure that Zayn's dad is gone before he comes out. Good thing he did, too, because the door opens again a second later. "And tell Liam that next time you two want to hide the fact that you're fooling around, he should probably make sure that the same shirt he was wearing to diner the other night isn't laying in the middle of the floor."

He winces before opening the closet door and peaking his head out. "Hi, Mr. Malik," he says sheepishly.

"Liam," he says back. "Nice to see you again." He turns to his son. "I know what it was like to be a teenager. I'm not that old. But you two are being safe, right? I don't need to give you the safe sex talk again?"

"Oh my  _god_ ," Zayn groans, covering his face. "You do not. Thanks."

"Okay, just checking. Because, you know, if you're not mature enough to buy condoms yourself, you're not ready to be having sex yet."

"I'm not having this conversation right now," Zayn says, voice muffled by his fingers.

"I embarrassed him," Zayn's dad says to Liam. "My job here is done. Nice seeing you again, Liam."

"You too, sir."

He leaves, heading down the hall. A moment later he passes the door again, but this time he doesn't come down. When they finally hear his car pulling away from the house, Zayn removes his hands from his face.

"I think I would have preferred for him to just shoot me," Liam states.

Zayn sighs and stands up. "That was probably a good thing, though. We should get those records and get over to Harry's before he sends Niall to come yell at us. Or worse, Louis."

Liam nods in agreement. He locates his shirt and pulls it on before tossing Zayn's to him, and then they make their way down the hall. The office is a small room, and it's the only one upstairs (except maybe the bathroom, but it's not like he checked) that doesn't smell like werewolves and perfume. It actually smells like a library; old paper and ink and dust overwhelming everything else.

There's a bookshelf against one wall, a computer against the other, and then a filling cabinet and, on top of that, a safe. "Do we have any idea what we're looking for?" Liam wonders, taking this all in.

"Sure," Zayn says confidently, stepping into the room. He does a full turn and says, "Absolutely no idea, actually."

The spend the next half an hour going through the room. They open every book, every drawer. Eventually Zayn sighs and lifts his hands in defeat. "If they have one, it's not here."

Liam nods, shutting the last drawer of the desk. At the last second he pulls it back open, tugging out one of the books he'd bypassed. "Wait," he says, holding it up. "What if it's not a book of records. What if it's a journal?"

Zayn frowns at him and grabs the book. He flips open the cover and scans the first few pages, much the way Liam had. He'd dismissed it instantly, assuming it was more personal than the type of thing they were looking for. Now that he goes back to it, though, he thinks that it might be  _exactly_  what they're looking for.

"This has everything in it," Zayn says quietly. " _'Zayn shot his first bow today. Tricia says—_ ," he cuts off and turns the pages quickly. It's not the biggest book ever, but the pages are thin, almost translucent, meaning there's a lot more than you'd think. "Seriously, it's like our whole fucking lives, all written down in this little book."

"But does it have the information we need?" he asks.

Zayn flips through the pages faster, nearly tearing them. He's nodding while his eyes dart over the words. "Yeah," he says. "It does. More than what we're looking for, I think."

Liam carefully puts everything back in the drawer where he'd found the journal before closing it. He doesn't want Zayn's dad to know they were in here, but he has a feeling he'll know anyways. "So now what?"

"Now," Zayn says, shutting the book, "we call Harry. We'll look through this, make a list of every pack they've hunted, every person they've killed, and which ones got away. And hopefully we'll end this."

Liam takes a step towards him. He puts a hand on Zayn's chin, tilting it up slightly. "Then what?" he asks. "What happens when you guys don't have a reason to be here anymore?"

He doesn't meet Liam's eyes as he shrugs. "We wait until we're needed somewhere else, and then we'll probably leave."

"Just like that."

"Just like that," Zayn confirms, gently pushing him away. "Come on, Liam, let's go before my parents come back and realize what we've taken."

He lets it go. He doesn't really want to think about it, anyways. Plus, he shouldn't be so attached to someone he's only known for such a short period of time, right? It's not like he's in love with Zayn.

A hand brushes his as they leave the room, and Zayn curls his fingers against Liam's, just tight enough that he can't stop thinking about it.

No, he's not in love with Zayn. If they keep this up any longer, though, he could be. And he has no idea what he's going to do when Zayn inevitably leaves.

 

—

 

They don't find any familiar names in the book. They've only gone through about half of it, though, Harry reading through the pages, Zayn hovering over him the whole time. Niall and Louis aren't there, but that's probably for the best. Not that Niall wouldn't be an asset, but Louis would probably get bored and spend the whole time complaining. Or distracting them.

"You still coming over later?" Zayn asks when he pulls up in front of Liam's house.

"Give me a few hours," Liam answers. He can see his mum inside, moving around the kitchen. He knows he's going to be in trouble the second he steps inside. He's technically grounded, but he'd checked in every couple hours to let her know where he was. She wasn't happy, but it couldn't be helped. After, when this was all dealt with, he would do his grounding without argument. Until then, he can't afford to waste time.

"I'll leave the window open," Zayn says. He gives Liam a sideways look. "You really don't have to, though. I'm fine. I'll deal with it."

"Or you'll stay up the whole night, listening to everything and freaking yourself out," Liam argues.

Zayn's lips spread into an unwilling smile. "How do you do that?" he asks. "How do you know me better than you should?"

"Maybe you're just predictable," Liam teases.

"Maybe," Zayn says softly. "Or maybe not." He kisses Liam's lip, brief and chaste. "Now go, before your mother starts to think I'm a bad influence and tells you you're not allowed to hang out with me anymore."

He wants to protest, wants to kiss Zayn again, better, more thoroughly, but he knows Zayn's right. "See you in a bit," he says while pushing open the door. "And call me if anything happens."

Zayn salutes, an amused look on his face. "Will do, Liam. But you worry too much, babe."

The car stays idling out front until he's inside. He thinks that Zayn worries just as much as he does, he's just a bit more subtle about it.

"Was that Zayn?" his mother yells from the kitchen.

He follows her voice, leaning in the doorway. "Yes."

"Hmm," she says, a disapproving tilt to her voice. "Is he aware that you're grounded?"

"No." It's a lie. He'd mentioned it, and Zayn had told him that they could do the research without him, but Liam refused.

"Oh." She sighs and pushes her hair off her forehead. "He seems nice," she offers. "You two are just friends, or…?"

"Um." He's not really sure  _what_  they are. They haven't exactly talked about it. "Sort of."

"Sort of," she snorts. "Okay, okay. I get it. It's not cool to discuss your relationships with your mother. But if you two are getting serious, I'd like to meet him. More formally than last time. And maybe he could actually stay for dinner this time."

"I'll talk to him about it," Liam lies. He yawns, stretching. "But I had a long day. I think I'm going to eat dinner and then go to bed."

"It must be exhausting, deliberately disobeying your mother's orders."

"I'm sorry," he sighs out. "Really. There was something really important I had to do."

"Yeah, yeah." She waves him off and hands him a plate of food. "You do the dishes when you're done, though."

He does so without complaint, knowing that he more than owes it to her for everything lately. When he's done, he climbs the stairs to his room, but he only gets halfway before he's tensing and narrowing his eyes. All he can smell in the hallway is something earthy, masked only by a sharp perfume. The exact same smell from Zayn's house, only it's stronger. Fresher.

"I know you know I'm here," a voice calls from his bedroom. "Are you going to be rude and try to attack me, or are you going to come into the room like a normal, civil person?"

The voice is feminine, but he's not surprised. The scent had been, too. Except she sounds playful and not at all malicious or dangerous, like he'd expect. But she broke into his house, and Zayn's, too, so really, how harmless can she be?

Cautiously, Liam pushes open his bedroom door. The light is on, illuminating the whole room, as well as the fact that his bedroom window is open, curtains flapping in the breeze. There's a girl — or maybe woman is a more accurate description— sitting on his bed, legs crossed. Her hair is thick and pulled back in a pony tail, and she's got a leather jacket on over a shirt that cuts low enough that he makes a point to keep his eyes on her face, so she doesn't think he's  _not_  looking at her face.

She smiles brightly at him, as if they're old friends, or at least two people who've met before. As if she hadn't broken into his bedroom without warning. As if he's not on edge because his mum is just downstairs, television thankfully turned up loudly.

"What are you doing in my house?" Liam demands. "And why have you been breaking into Zayn's?"

The girl scoffs. "Personal reasons," she says flippantly. "Or, more accurately, none of your business, Liam. But I think it's sweat that you worry about him. I'm not the one you have to watch out for, though."

He should get an award, really, for being so calm about this all. "And I should just take your word for it."

"Yes, you should," the girl says. She stands up, a hand going straight to her hip. She's not all that tall, not compared to him, but there's something about the stance that reminds him so much of his mother. Somehow still fierce and intimidating, even though everything about her screams harmlessness. " _I'm_  not the issue around here.  _I'm_  not the one biting people, or killing people."

"But you're working with them," Liam guesses. It's the only thing that makes sense. He doesn't recognize her, so maybe she wasn't a newly bitten beta, but it's the only reasonable conclusion.

"Rude," the girl snaps. "I am  _not_. I'm actually offended that you'd assume that. I thought you were a good judge of character, Liam.'

"Can you stop using my name when I don't even know yours?" Liam asks, eyes narrowing.

She extends a hand to him, a wide, white-toothed grin on her face. "You're so polite," she says. "And you can call me Dawn."

"Okay," he drags out. " _Dawn_. Um. Not to ruin your impression of me being polite or anything, but—  _what do you want from me_?"

Letting out a tinkling laugh, she puts a hand on Liam's arm. "I see why he likes you," she says. "But to answer your question, I'm here to help you."

"Help me," he repeats. "Help me how?"

A roll of her eyes and that hand slips away. "I'm sure you've realized what I am by now. And while hunters are usually the only ones who do anything when one of  _our_  kind go off their rocker, sometimes we have to step in. It's not good to have someone flaunting what we are, you know? It gets dangerous for the rest of us if people find out." She flicks the end of her ponytail over her shoulder. "So while we normally turn a blind eye to this kind of thing, we have no choice but to step in, since my pack lives only a few towns over and it's not safe for us to have hunters sniffing around this area."

"I still don't get what this has to do with me," Liam admits.

"You need to figure out who the alpha is, right?" she guesses. "And you need to take him out. And when you do, there's going to be a whole pack left. A pack of misguided young werewolves who have barely any idea how to even control themselves. So we'll help you catch and kill the alpha if you let us deal with the betas. Your curly haired friend can't help train the others. They're not like you and— Louis, is it? They're feral, dangerous. We don't want them to get killed by a group of hunters, but we also can't stand by and watch them massacre the whole town as soon as their alpha dies and they have no one to control them."

He can't help but blink in surprise at that. Honestly, he has no idea why he's so calm with this girl's presence in his house, because he thinks there should be some part of him still restless and upset about this, but there's something so familiar about her that he can't help but relax. And she's offering to help them. He thinks there's a hidden agenda there, something she's not telling him, and he definitely doesn't trust her. Still, they could use all the help they can get.

"We who?" he questions. "You said we, not I. We who?"

"I told you, my pack and I."

"And where's your pack now?" Liam wonders, chancing a glance at the window. He almost expects them to materialize there, but they don't, obviously.

"They're around," she purrs. He feels weird referring to it as that, but that's the only way to describe the way she says the words. "Why, are you thinking of doing something stupid, Liam?"

"No, I was just wondering." It's the truth, too. As long as she doesn't pose any threat to him or his mother, why would he? "But I still don't understand. And I'm not agreeing to anything unless you stay away from Zayn and his family."

Something flashes in her eyes. It's not the normal flash of gold or blue that you normally see on a werewolf when their temper fires up. It's different. Something completely human and completely pissed. "No way."

"Then no deal."

"You don't know what you're asking!" she shouts at him. "I can't do that, and you  _need_  my help! Don't you get that? You  _need_  us. You're way in over your head. You think you can handle this all on your own? You're a bunch of  _kids_. You're so completely fucked and you have no idea! Do you really think that you're smart enough, strong enough to do this? To take down an entire pack while dealing with a group of hunters at the same time?"

"I—,"

"You _can't_." She pokes his chest with a sharp, pointed nail. "You need me."

He straightens up, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You need to stay away from him."

She flinches at the tone in his voice. He almost does, too, but he catches himself. Taking a step back, she shakes her head, dropping her eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "But you can't ask me to do that. Not now. Not until I know they're safe. And they're not right now. You get that, too. Isn't that why you're going over there tonight?"

At this point, he's not even surprised that she knows about that. "Yeah, it is. I just don't see why you'd care."

She chuckles and tilts his chin up. "You're lucky you're pretty. I need to go, though. If you need me, my number is on your nightstand. Think about what I said. Talk to your pack—,"

"I don't have a pack," Liam reminds her.

"Yes, you do. So talk to them and then get back to me. It'd be best for us all if we helped each other." And then she's ducking out his window. The sound of her feet hitting the ground below is soft, barely noticeable. He's going to have to learn how to do that, how to be more graceful about it. Those are things Harry can't teach him, but maybe…

He locates the number, written on a piece of his notebook paper. She'd apparently went through his room, but he doesn't find anything missing or touched except for his bag with the pen and paper in it. He grabs the slip of paper, programmes the number into his phone, and then he gets ready to head over to Zayn's.

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

He wakes up to hot breath on his neck and someone whispering, "Your mum's up. I'm gonna duck out and get home before mine realizes I'm gone."

He rolls over, too groggy to figure out whether or not those words are actually being spoken, or if the angel in his dream is just whispering more sweet nothings to him. Except, no, in his dream, lips had been  _on_  his neck, not near it. A hand had been tugging at his hair, and teeth had been scraping almost painfully as Liam pushed into him and—

Blinking slowly, he shifts a bit, praying Liam won't notice the fact that he'd woken up with a hard-on. "You're still here," he croaks out, reaching up to rub at his eyes with the back of his hand.

Liam smiles at him. "I told you I would be."

"Mm, yeah, but I thought—," he yawns, "— that maybe I dreamt the whole thing."

A hand brushes his hair off his forehead. "Do you often dream of me staying the night with you?" Liam teases.

"Maybe," he admits, slinging a heavy arm over Liam's waist. He stretches, arching against Liam, another yawn slipping out of his mouth. When he's done, he curls in on himself, pulling Liam closer while he does so. "Back to be, Li. 'm tired."

Groaning, Liam gently pushes him back. "I can't. My mum's going to be getting up soon, and if she finds out I'm not home, she might just kill me this time." Lips slide against Zayn's, even though he figures his breath is rank and it's probably a hundred times worse for Liam, given the extra sensitive senses and what not. "I'll see you at school."

"Fine," he grumbles, sitting up. He hates mornings, but maybe he'd like them a little better if he woke up like that every day. "See you at school."

"Oh, and do me a favour, please. Text Louis and Niall and tell them not to make plans after school," Liam says in a rushed whispers while tugging on his shoes. He nearly trips, catches himself on Zayn's dresser, and adds, "We're all meeting at Harry's again."

"Sure," Zayn says tiredly, waving a limp hand. He scratches at his chin with the other, lips pursing in a pout. He wants to go back to bed. He wants to pull Liam back down, crawl on top of him and fall asleep like that.

"Bye," Liam says before jumping out the window.

At the last second, Zayn hurries out of bed and leans out it. "Wait, am I driving you today?" he calls softly, not wanting to wake his sisters, or alert his parents.

Liam nods and, ridiculously enough, he blows Zayn a kiss before jogging off into the woods that surround his house. Zayn finds himself standing there, grinning and leaning on the windowsill until Liam disappears from sight, and then he shakes himself and shuts the window a little forcefully, wondering what the hell is wrong with him.

He runs a hand through his hair, muttering, "Damn it," as he does so. Now that Liam's gone, he can hear his parents moving around their room, and down the hall the shower turns on. He falls back into bed and decides to shower later. He needs another hour, or six, of sleep.

By the time he finally drags himself out of the house, he's actually early to pick Liam up. And he slept well last night. Normally he's the type of person who wakes sixteen thousand times and fitfully turns in his sleep, but last night he just — hadn't. It was nice. It's the first time in forever that he doesn't feel like ripping someone's head off this early in the morning.

So he swings around to Niall's and gets him first, if only because it's the nice thing to do, and maybe because he really sort of likes Liam a lot, and he doesn't know how to deal with that. It's easier to deal with when they're not alone, though. When everything isn't  _LiamLiamLiam_.

"Are we dating?" he asks Niall on the way to Liam's. "Is that what you'd call us? I mean, he stayed over last night and everything. That's— that's got to be something, right? And he asked me out on a date, but technically, going on a date and dating ar two different things."

Niall makes a face at him. "It's too early for you to be having a relationship crisis," he grumbles. "Did you talk to Liam about it?"

"No." He tightens his grip around the steering wheel. "I can't just ask him about it. It'd be awkward. And what if I don't want to date him, but I don't want to  _not_  date him, either?"

"I have no idea what the fuck that's supposed to mean."

Niall is as much of a morning person as he is, obviously.

Zayn glares at him. "I like him, obviously. It's just that I  _really like him_."

"So what's the problem?"

"Seriously?" Zayn asks, eyebrows raising high above his eyes. " _Seriously_? What's the problem? Maybe the fact that he's a fucking  _werewolf_. Or, oh, maybe the fact that my parents  _kill werewolves_. Not to mention I'll be leaving in a few month, at the most, because that's what my family's done since I was about seven years old."

"I think," Niall starts, turning in his seat while he does so to fix Zayn with a knowing look, "people try to complicate things because they're afraid of not stopping themselves, afraid of letting themselves be happy because they're scared of one day losing that happiness, and they're not sure they can handle that. So they remind themselves of every possible thing that could go wrong, while forgetting all the things that could go right, because they think it'll be better to feel nothing than to feel something and lose it."

Zayn sort of gapes at him. Honestly, who knew Niall was capable of that? Especially at — he chances a glance at the dashboard before reminding himself of the fact that he's  _driving_  and returning his gaze to the road— eight in the morning.

"That was deep," Zayn comments. "But I don't think that counts in this situation, because my reasons why this won't work are actually pretty freaking logical."

"Don't you have a date on Friday, though?" Niall reminds him.

"How'd you know about Friday?"

Rolling his eyes, Niall playfully shoves him. "Liam apparently called Harry and gushed about it like a fourteen year old girl who got asked out by her crush. And Louis likes to eavesdrop, and now that he's got super fucking hearing, he heard the whole thing because Harry never closes his window, or so Louis claims."

"That's creepy," Zayn snorts.

"Yep," Niall agrees. "But as I was saying, I think you can make anything work, as long as you want to."

Zayn doesn't agree. He thinks that some things are just destined to not happen, and maybe him and Liam is one of them.

 

—

 

He's had the journal on him since he left the house this morning. He knows it's only a matter of time before his dad notices it missing, so he wants them to be done with it as soon as possible, and then he's going to put it back and pretend like he never touched it.

It sits in the tight back pocket of his jeans as he walks into Harry's room, Liam just behind him, a warm hand on his back. It's a comforting touch, and he sort of wants it there forever, but at the same time, he knows he won't get that. Knows that whatever  _this is_ , it has an expiration date.

"Ugh," Louis groans. "Someone crack a window, please."

Harry makes a face at him. "Why? What's wrong with the way my room smells?"

Zayn doesn't smell anything, and Niall looks just as confused. Liam, on the other hand, turns a bright shade of red as he sinks to the floor against the door, as he always does. Whatever Louis' smelling, Liam apparently does, too.

"I'm just saying," Louis begins while falling onto Harry's bed, "that you need a girlfriend or something, mate, because you must masturbate a  _lot_. It stinks like semen in here, and it's grossing me out, but it's also making me mildly turned on, and  _seriously_  is that a side affect of this whole thing? Because I've been proper horny for the last couple weeks, and it's driving me insane." He turns to Liam. "Is it the same with you? Or is it easier because you're actually getting some and I'm not?"

Both Harry and Liam are blushing now, and Zayn figures that maybe he is, too. "I'm not— I'm not  _getting some_ ," Liam blurts, eyes wide. "I mean—,"

"What?" Louis demands, shooting Zayn a look. "Seriously? Why not? You two look at each other like you've fucked a hundred times over and you know exactly how to touch each other. It's disturbing to witness, in fact."

"Wait, wait, wait." Niall holds up his hands before Zayn can yell at Louis for making Liam uncomfortable, or Liam can burry his head in his hands to hide his embarrassment. "Let's revisit the part where smelling Harry's, um,  _stuff_  turns you on. Can we talk about that? I think we should talk about that."

Harry continues to stare at the ground with a horribly humiliated look on his face. Louis, on the other hand, glares at Niall. "No, let's not."

Clearing his throat, Liam raises his hand like he's in class. "Can we talk about the reason why I needed you all here today?" he asks, just as Louis says under his breath to Harry, "Seriously, how often are we talking? Once a day?  _Twice_? Can't you just do it in the shower?"

"Why did you ask us all here today?" Niall wonders, giving Zayn a questioning look, as if he'll know. He shrugs because he doesn't.

"I spoke to someone last night," Liam says, and Louis stops teasing Harry to pay attention. "Another werewolf."

Everyone in the room goes quiet. All Zayn can hear is their collective breathing and the soft wind drifting in through the now open window. It takes him a moment to really understand what Liam's just said, and when he  _has_ , he tenses and turns to Liam, lips parted in surprise and  _maybe_  concern.

"Not one of  _them_ ," Liam says quickly. "She was, uh, well, a she. And she's not from around here, apparently. And her and her pack want to help us."

"What's her name?" Harry asks. "My parents might know who she is, or at least who her pack is."

"Dawn?" Liam says, not sounding sure. "That's what she told me, anyways."

"I'll talk to my parents." Harry chews his lip for a moment. "But she offered us  _help_? Help with what?"

"She wants to take out the alpha," Liam says slowly. "And she wants to help us deal with the betas afterwards."

" _Why_?" Niall wonders. "Why would she offer to help us? And why wouldn't they just do it themselves?"

"Search me." Liam lifts his hands, just as lost as the rest of them.

Something about this whole thing rubs him the wrong way, but the rest of them seem to  _like_  the idea. Louis' nodding slowly and saying, "We could use all the help we can get," and Liam's agreeing with him. Harry's still chewing his lip, but he's nodding, too. Niall seems to be the only one that has any qualms about this, but the more Liam talks about it, the more he warms to the idea.

"Well," Louis says loudly. "It doesn't really matter right now. We can't do anything until the weekend. For one, Liam's grounded. For another, I have a big game tomorrow, and Liam and Zayn have a date on Friday. We'll put this off until Saturday, think it over, and then we'll decide on what we're going to do."

"You can't play tomorrow." His, Liam's and Niall's voices mesh together when they speak at the same time. It's sort of creepy.

"Why not?" Louis asks, bewildered.

"Are you stupid?" Niall flicks his knee.

"It's dangerous," Liam explains.

"Let's put it simply," Zayn offers. "You play, you get upset, you turn, you kill someone. Or, you play, you get worked up, you turn, someone notices. Either way, you play, you risk the chance of turning, and we can't have that happening. No playing until you're in better control of yourself."

With an incredulous look on his face, Louis turns to Harry. "I really can't play?"

Harry shakes his head sadly. "It'd be best for you to not. At least for now."

"This is bullshit," Louis spits, standing up. "Fucking bullshit. Like it's not bad enough that I have to live with this  _and_  hang around with Styles, but now I can't even fucking play?" He stomps towards the door. "You can all suck my fucking dick, you know that? And no, Harry, that wasn't a damn invitation."

Shoving Liam out of the way, Louis pulls open Harry's bedroom door, steps through it without turning, and then slams it shut.

"You know what's ridiculous?" Harry asks in a soft, dejected voice, eyes on the door. "I'm still in love with him. He treats me like shit, and I still fucking love him."

Niall looks guilty at that. "I don't think he means it, if it's any consolation."

"No, he does," Harry says. "And it's fine. 'm used to it, at this point."

With Louis gone, they're free to go over the journal again without interruption. Zayn hands it over to Harry and leans again Liam, who plays with his hair and stares off into space, lost in his thoughts. Niall's playing video games, so Zayn takes advantage of everyone's distraction to memorize every inch of Liam he can.

He starts with the thick eyebrows, just this side of too bushy. He runs his fingertips over them, revelling in the coarseness of the hair there. Other than a few rapid blinks, Liam doesn't react. His fingers continue to card absently through Zayn's hair. So he moves on to brushing over the lines at the corners of Liam's eyes. They're barely noticeable like this, but when he smiles or laughs, they're prominent. Adorable, really, if he used that word to describe things, which he  _doesn't_. He traces the lines of Liam's nose next. Liam's eyes dart down to him for just a second, eyebrows scrunching a bit. Zayn shakes his head and he goes back to staring blankly at the wall. Zayn continues on to his lips because he sort of loves them. Soft, plump. He pokes at the bottom on until Liam playfully licks his finger.

By the time Harry's done with the book, it's dark outside and Zayn's fingers are tingling from rubbing the buzzed parts of Liam's hair. "You done?" Liam asks softly.

Zayn jumps, almost surprised that Liam had even noticed what he'd been doing because he's barely moved in the last hour or so. "Yeah, sorry."

Liam's thumb brushes against his jaw. "Don't apologize."

"Gross," Niall grunts. Zayn sticks his tongue out at him.

"Okay, I'm done," Harry says. He holds up a bunch of lined paper. "Every name, and I've written down what cities they were in, too, if they were listed. I need to go back over it, see if any names stick out, but I'm pretty sure I haven't heard of any of these people."

Zayn takes the journal from him. "I should probably put this back right away."

"Mhm." Harry doesn't look up from the papers. "Just let yourself out. I'll be going over this tonight."

"Are you kicking us out?" Niall asks from where he's leaning against the bed, legs crossed, engrossed in a game of Halo.

"No, you can stay. Just don't talk to me."

Liam stands up, brushes off his jeans, and then he opens the door for Zayn. They pass Harry's mum in the downstairs hallway, who's busy hopping around with one heeled shoe on and attempting to button a blazer. "Oh," she says breathlessly. "You're leaving so soon?"

"We'll probably be back tomorrow," Liam says. "You off to work?"

"Business meeting," she confirms. "I don't want to, but  _someone's_  gotta do it, and I've got more balls than any of the men I work with, so." She shrugs and waves them off. "Drive safely you two."

"Will do," Zayn promises.

"Oh, and Liam," she says, giving up on the blazer and tossing it onto the stairs, "is there any particular reason why Louis Tomlinson just ran out of here crying?"

They both stop dead on the way to the door. "Um." Liam licks his lips and looks to Zayn for help, but he has no idea what to say, either. "No, but I'm going to go figure it out right now."

"See that you do," Harry's mother says. She shakes her head sadly. "Sweet kid, always was, but the situation with his parents—," she cuts herself off and smiles weakly at them. "I'm glad you're all friends now, though. He probably needs that."

Zayn gets a soft pat on the back on their way out the door, which has him turning to look at her in surprise. The door shuts before he can figure out what he did to earn that, though, because he thought she didn't like him at all, given what his parents are. What  _he_  is.

There's a discernable change in Liam as soon as they get outside. He stops, taking a sweeping look around the neighbourhood, and then says in a tone that's devoid of all it's usual warmth and emotion, "Get in the car."

"I— what?"

"Get in the car, Zayn," he says calmly. " _Now_."

And then he's running left, towards Louis' house. Zayn take a second to react, but when he  _does_ , he sprints to his car and pulls open the back door before hitting the switch under the seat that pops his trunk. It's a hidden switch and the only way to open the trunk. A necessary precaution, given what he has in there.

He bypasses the pistol and the wolfsbane bullets, instead reaching for the crossbow. It's not his normal bow, since that one stays at home, normally. This one's a little smaller, a little stiffer, but it works, and he practises with it enough that he won't have an issue using it.

Following the path Liam had just taken, he ducks between a set of bushes and finds himself near Louis' driveway. He can see Liam and Louis both, Louis by his front door, arms crossed over his chest, and Liam not far from him. And there's someone with them. Someone who's body is crouched low to the ground, and their ears are pointed and inhuman. He lifts his crossbow and takes a hesitant step forward just as Liam turns and shouts something at him, and a pair of arms go around his waist and tug him backwards.

The crossbow slips from his fingers and hits the ground with a muffled thud. Nails dig into his skin through his sweater, and he feels blood dampen the material. His own blood. That's not important at the moment. What's important is getting out of the grip holding him tightly against the thing's chest, and buy time until Liam and Louis get over to him.

In the distance he can hear them fighting. Can hear the sounds of material ripping and growls filling the air, and he's still being pulled backwards, back onto Harry's property. He kicks backwards, foot connecting with a knee. The one holding him hisses in pain but that only makes him tear at Zayn's hip. Burning pain surges through him and tears prickle his eyes.

"Make this easy on us both," the guy behind him grunts, words thick. Zayn figures he has a mouth full of sharp teeth right now. "Stop fighting, I'll take what I want, and I'll let you go."

"Like hell," Zayn spits, this time going with his elbow. He jams it into the guy's ribs, thinks he hears a cracking sound, but the next thing he knows, the entire pocket of his jeans is being ripped out, and he's being pushed away.

He whirls, sees his dad's journal in the things hand, and his heart sinks in his chest. "You should worry less about this," the werewolf says, lips spread over disgusting teeth, maliciously smirking, "and more about your friends inside."

Zayn looks up at the house. Harry's bedroom window is wide open, as they'd left it, but the next second, as he's looking up, something jumps out of it. Something with papers clenched tightly in one blood coated hand. It leaves a smudged red handprint on the sill as it jumps, and then it's racing into the woods, away from the house. His partner follows him a moment later, taking the journal with him.

Blood soaks through the bottom of his sweater and the waistband of his jeans, but he ignores that. Ignores the pain that comes with it, too, because there's more important things to worry about. He takes a step towards Harry's house, legs feeling like bricks, terrified of what he's going to find inside because he hadn't heard any screams.

Hands tug him backwards. For the second time in— not even five minutes, he thinks, he's pulled back against a solid chest, hands roughly holding him. Except nails aren't digging in this time, and Liam's burying his head into Zayn's neck, breathing deeply.

"Hospital," he says. "We need to get you to the hospital."

"'m fine," Zayn mumbles. "Harry and Niall—,"

"Is— is that blood?" Louis asks from behind them. Liam reluctantly releases Zayn so they can both turn to him. Louis' staring up at Harry's window, eyes bright blue. Not naturally, either.

Before either of them can answer, Louis is pushing them away roughly and throwing open the front door. Zayn runs in after him, not quite comfortable with the way Louis was moving, or the look in his eyes. Plus, there's blood streaking his clothes, and Liam's, too, and he knows that neither of them are in control right now, least of all Louis. He yearns for his crossbow (not that he'd do anything rash. Maybe just shoot Louis once, in the legs, if only to get him to stop), but it's still on the ground somewhere between Harry and Louis' property.

The house is weirdly silent as he climbs the stairs, only the sounds of their footsteps filling the air. Or, his and Liam's footsteps. Louis had taken the stairs four at a time, and he's already at the top.

Harry's bedroom door is open, and his mother lays unconscious in the hallway. There's a gun in her hand, too, but her wrist is twisted, bent at a wrong angle, and there's a small pool of blood under her head. Harry's crouched down beside her, pressing a shaking finger to her neck to check her pulse.

"What happened?" Zayn asks, since Louis looks seconds away from losing it, and Liam's just standing there in shock.

Harry blinks up at them, as if surprised to find someone else in the house. Liam moves then, shouldering past Harry to get into the bedroom. He can see Niall inside, on the floor with his eyes closed and his skin too pale and ashen. Louis moves, too, going to put a hand — nails sharpened to points still, which has Zayn inching forward to stop him— on Harry's shoulder.

Except Harry straightens up and flinches away from him. Louis doesn't seem to get that Harry doesn't want to be touched, and he takes a step towards him. Harry shoves him roughly away. " _No_ ," he spits. "Don't you dare. If you— if you hadn't been such an asshole, if you hadn't thrown a hissy fit and run away, you would have been here! You would have been here, and she wouldn't have gotten hurt!"

The light goes out of Louis' eyes. "Harry—,"

"Get out of my house," Harry orders. He reaches down and carefully pulls the gun out of his mothers fingers. He doesn't raise it, doesn't even turn the safety off, but still. It's there, the threat obvious. "I'm only telling you once."

Louis leaves without protesting. From there, Liam forces him out of the house and into the backseat of his car, and then he and Harry carry Harry's mum downstairs, first, and then an also unconscious Niall. He hates getting treated like one of them. They're both out of it, for fuck sake, and he's still conscious. He's  _fine_ , actually, even if the wound in his side is a little distracting, and there's black spots on his vision.

He learns, during the ride the hospital, what happened. When Liam went over to Louis', he was arguing with one of the werewolves who had apparently scratched his car, demanding that he pay to get it repainted (Zayn's honestly not surprised by this, since it  _is_  Louis they're talking about), and while that was happening, the other one was grabbing Zayn, and a third was breaking into Harry's house. What they wanted was obvious. They knew that Harry was going through the journal, getting the names, and there must have been something incriminating in there because they're went to extreme lengths to keep them from finding it.

Anyways— Harry had obviously refused to give up the papers, Niall had stepped between them and, according to Harry, the thing had easily batted him out of the way, Niall had hit the wall with a sickening sound and was knocked unconscious immediately. Harry's mum must have heard, because the next thing he knew, she was running into the room with a gun in her hand, but she hadn't gotten to do anything before the thing attacked her, too, and Harry had handed over the papers to get him away from her. Everything from then on he knows first hand because they'd gotten there almost immediately afterwards.

"I'm fine," Zayn snaps when Liam pulls open his door and tries to get him out of the car. They're right out front of the hospital doors, as close as they can get without driving up onto the pavement. "I'll be fine. Get the others inside. I'm okay."

Liam nods, like he agrees, but the next thing Zayn knows, he's being thrown over a shoulder and carried inside. Liam drops him none-to-gently on the ground just inside the doors and gives him a warning look before returning back outside to get Harry's mum. Everything from then on is a rushed blur because he takes a shaky breath, says Liam's name softly, winces ag the pounding in his head, and the world goes out of focus as the ground swallows him up.

 

—

 

As soon as he wakes, laying in a lumpy hospital room, he thanks whatever god above granted him this, because the only one in his room is Louis. He knows he's lucky there. Knows that if it were his parents, they'd be shouting at him, and if it were Liam, he'd be hovering and concerned and while Zayn appreciates that, he really does, his head still hurts and he sort of can't deal with that at the moment.

"Should we make a list of all the people who are currently waiting for you to get well enough so they can kill you themselves?" Louis asks. Zayn regrets being happy about him being here. "Your mother went  _ballistic,_ and I think she almost beat up the nurse. Your father was physically removed after pushing in here while they were still sewing up your side, and then Liam called you an idiot for not telling him how badly you were hurt, and then the poor guy practically cried when they said you'd lost a nearly fatal amount of blood."

"So." His voice cracks; he coughs and restarts. "So they're about as mad at me as Harry is at you, then."

Louis glares at him. "Just for that, I'm not going to talk to you."

"Are you just going to sit there next to my hospital bed and pout, then?"

That's exactly what he does. Zayn sighs and reaches for the water bottle on his bedside table. It's warm and stale, but he guzzles it down, throat parched. The movement has him wincing, though. He feels a stomach churning tug at his side and wonders if he's ripping his stitches. Wonders exactly how many stitches he got.

"Can you at least tell me what happened after I passed out?" he asks Louis.

All he gets in reply to that is a sharper glare, but Louis' lips twitch and his hands clench and unclench. "Oh,  _fine_ ," he says, as if he can't help himself. "I don't really know, exactly, because I didn't get here until after Niall woke up and he called me, and everything I do know I learned from him, so it's probably a bit inaccurate." He takes a breath. "You passed out in the lobby, nearly cracked your head open but Liam, being the god damn superhero he is, managed to run across the room with Harry's mum still in his arms, and he caught you. Then you were rushed to a room, they had to stop the bleeding, they sewed you up, and here we are. You have fourteen stitches and you'll probably have on hell of a scar, but you'll be fine, as long as your parents don't kill you, but I think they just might. They were pretty upset."

"Great," he grumbles. He tugs a hand through his hair, fingers getting stuck and ripping through the tangles, making him hiss in pain. "They know what happened, then?"

"They got a revised version," Louis answers. "Left out the part about Liam and I, twisted it so they thought you got attacked in Harry's house. They bought it, but you're not allowed to talk to Harry anymore, apparently."

Zayn groans loudly. "Whatever. I'll deal with that later."

"Or you could not," Louis suggests. "Who cares if you're not allowed to hang out with him. It's not like anyone would want to. Not anyone but Liam, but — please don't kill me for saying thing— it's not like Liam had any other options before you came around."

"I think you like him," Zayn says honestly. "You're being too much of a dick about this for someone who claims to not give a fuck."

Surprisingly, Louis says, not frothing at the mouth or threatening to rip out his jugular or anything, "You're high on painkillers, mate. Your judgement is clouded."

Zayn doesn't think it is, but he'll let it go for now because he'd rather not have Louis' claws in him while he's still trying to heal from someone else's.

"How's Harry's mum, though?" he asks.

Louis' eyes flutter closed for a moment. "She's fine," he says finally. "Not that anyone told me. I had to eavesdrop, but I'm fairly good at that now, so."

"Harry's still not talking to you, then."

"Threatened to punch me in the face and shave off my hair in my sleep, actually," he says lightly. "Whatever. He'll get over it. I've pissed that boy off my whole life, and he always finds a reason to forgive me, even though he definitely shouldn't."

"Maybe one day he won't forgive you," Zayn points out.

Louis nods slowly. "Maybe you're right," he says softly. "Anyways. Hospital food is disgusting, and you're free to go after the nurse checks you out, so I'm going to go get her and then I'll drive you home. We'll stop and get food. My treat."

"Where's my car?" Zayn immediately asks.

With an apologetic look on his face, Louis says, "Your parents confiscated it. You're not getting it back for a long, long time."

"Just get me the nurse," Zayn grits out. He doesn't want to talk anymore. The more Louis tells him, the more upset he gets. It's best for him to just get home and face the music now. Hopefully he'll look wounded enough that his mum will take pity on him.

He seriously doubts this, but sometimes you've got to just hope for the best.

—

Honestly, he was expecting a hug and a slap from his mother when he gets home. Instead, she tightly grips his shoulder and waves politely to Louis as he drives away, and then she drags Zayn inside and sits him down at the kitchen table. His father is there, too, and he can faintly hear Safaa upstairs, singing along to Katy Perry, which is playing far louder than their parents would normally allow.

"We need to talk," his father says. He folds his hands on the table, and Zayn swallows. This is going to be bad.

"You're  _damn right_ ," his mother hisses. She doesn't sit. Instead she paces around the room. Her hair is a mess, her cheeks are red, and he's  _really_  surprised she hasn't slapped him yet. Not that his parents have a hands on disciplinary tactic (he's only been spanked a total of two times in his life, and he remembers them very clearly), but she looks pretty close to edge right now. "I can't  _believe_  you, Zayn. I thought you were smarter than this. Breaking into your father's office. Stealing our journal. Attempting to— to  _what_  exactly? What were you and those boys planning, Zayn?"

"That's what Clark and I would like to know," his father says, much calmer. "Are you telling all of yours friends about what we do now?"

"I— I haven't told anyone," Zayn says quickly. "You know I wouldn't. I never have, and I know that I can't."

"So Louis and Liam—,"

"Harry told Liam," Zayn corrects, since it's technically true. "And, um, I don't really know who told Louis."

His mother has a pinched look on her face, and his father drags a hand through his hair in a way that Zayn knows he's picked up on over time, because he does the exact same thing the exact same way. "Why would any of you try to take this on by yourself?" his father wonders. "I can't fathom it, I really can't. You're too intelligent to be doing reckless, stupid things like this."

The thing is, he's totally right. This isn't something they can handle on their own. Fuck, even the adults are struggling with this. Why would he ever think that he and, what? A novice werewolf hunter, two freshly bitten teenage werewolves, and— whatever the fuck Harry is, could take this on? They can't, and they were stupid to think they could. And look what happened. Everyone got hurt except Louis and Liam, but they could have. Fuck, they're lucky someone didn't die, because people  _do_  die doing this. His father's lost countless friends, partners. Hell, a few years back, Clark lost his wife because of it.

They should have known better, and he knows this. Ducking his head, Zayn whispers, "I'm sorry."

"You will be," his mother promises. "Mark my words."

"Okay," Zayn says. "I won't fight you on it. I know that I deserve it. But— can I not be grounded on Friday, please? Liam and I—,"

"I'm not even sure if I want you hanging out with that boy any longer," his mother snaps. "Obviously he's been a bad influence on you. You'd never do something this imprudent before you met him."

"It's not Liam's fault," he says, more than a little defensive.

"What's happening on Friday?" his father asks, ignoring them.

"We were supposed to go on a date," he says feebly. He knows it's a weak argument, knows his mum won't go for it, so he adds, "Since we were  _supposed_  to go to the other night, if you remember, but I had to bring Safaa along." Guilt trips are his forte.

It's really creepy, the way his parents communicate without words. They exchange significant glances, his father's eyebrows raised, his mother's eyes narrowed dangerously. His dad shakes his head, she crosses her arms over her chest.

"Okay," his father decides. "You can go out on Friday. You're to be home by nine, and you call every hour to check in. Afterwards, you hand over the keys to your car and you resume your grounding without complaint. That means no television, no computer except for homework, and you only get the car to drive to and from school."

"That's reasonable," Zayn supposes. "Can I go upstairs now? I'm tired."

His mother caresses his face. "How are you feeling, though, sweetie? How's your side? Do you need—,"

"I'm fine," he assures her. "Just exhausted."

She waves him out of his seat and up the stairs while promising to bring him something to eat after, even though he tells her he's not hungry. She's not hearing it, so he sighs and accepts and heads to his room. He pounds on Safaa's door on the way by, shouting at her to turn the damn music down.

Instead, she peaks her head out the door and gives him a nervous look before gesturing for him to come inside. "I want to show you something," she says. She's got this look on her face, one he's used to seeing only when she and Waliyha are doing something they shouldn't be. He knows Waliyha is a bad influence on her, knows that she gets Safaa to do all sorts of things she could get in trouble for. He wonders what the hell they're up to this time, and why they're letting him in on it.

The door shuts behind him, and he looks around the room, expecting his other sisters inside. And she is, just not the one he expects.

Zayn stumbles backwards, eyes wide, and for the second time that day, he nearly passes out.

"Hey, little brother," Doniya says.

Okay, so he does pass out then.

 

—

 

Zayn was twelve the last time he'd seen Doniya. She was dressed up all pretty, her hair perfectly straight, her eyelashes thick and dark, her lips ruby red. She'd been smiling and fixing her hair every second waiting for her boyfriend to show up. He drove a motorcycle, this loud, rumbling thing that you could hear from blocks away. She'd been so fucking happy.

Two weeks later and she still hadn't returned. His parents sat him down, along with his other two sisters, and told them that Doniya had been attacked that night. She died, is what they told him. Is that they'd been told, too.

There was a few months where his parents didn't talk to each other. He remembers this all so clearly. Remembers hearing his mother cry every night, and his father less frequently, always when he thought no one could hear. That was the worst, when his dad cried, because he always seemed so strong. That's what made it real for him, his dad's sobbing. Only something that horrible could break him like that.

It's like seeing a ghost, blinking awake to find her hovering over him, a teasing smile on her face. There's something else there, underneath, and her eyes are wet. "You've gotten soft," she jokes. "I don't think I've ever seen someone pass out like that. It was pretty cool."

Zayn sits up fast. The world spins for a minute, and suddenly he's seeing double of everything. Two Safaa's, hovering nervously in the corner. Two Doniya's, crying silently while still grinning brightly at him. It's unnerving and it makes him want to throw up.

He blinks rapidly, his vision returning to normal, and then he stares at her, wondering if maybe Liam hadn't caught him at the hospital. Maybe he'd hit his head and everything that's happened since he woke up to find Louis in his hospital room has just been a dream. Or a nightmare, maybe.

"Surprise," Doniya says weakly.

"You can't tell mum and dad," Safaa says quickly, running over to them. She grabs Zayn's hands in her smaller ones, squeezing for emphasis. "You can't tell them, Zaynie, please."

He reaches out with his freehand to touch Doniya's arm, to assure himself that this is real. He pinches her and she yelps before slapping his shoulder and, yeah, this is real. This is  _real_ , and — "How?" he asks. "What's going on?"

"I probably have some explaining to do," Doniya says sheepishly. "And apologizing."

"You're fucking right you do," Zayn gasps. "I— you're supposed to be  _dead_."

"Be nice," Safaa scolds. "It's not as if Don chose to leave us. She loves us."

Zayn ignores her, turning a glare to his older sister. Anger bubbles up inside him, raw and hot, making him feel too warm in the sweater his mum had left for him to change into at the hospital.

Doniya just sighs and sinks to the ground by his feet, crossing her legs, hands folded in her lap. "I really didn't want to," she says softly. "Honest, Zayn. It was the hardest thing for me to do, but it's better this way. This is the  _only_  way."

"Like with Liam," Safaa says with wide eyes. "Like how you can't tell mum and dad because he's a, you know." She mimes fangs and growls at him. "It's like that."

"Exactly," Doniya says. Zayn's gaping at the two of them. How does Safaa know about Liam? How does  _Doniya_  know about Liam?

"How is that  _anything_  like this?" Zayn asks, hating the shaky quality to his voice.

Doniya makes a face at him and, within the blink of an eye, hers are suddenly golden, reflecting the light, and her face morphs, distorts, no longer human. "What do you think would happen if other hunters found out?" she asks. "What do you think they'd want mum and dad to do?"

"You— you're—," He clutches a hand to his chest, as if to stop his heart from thudding and jumping out of it.

"I got bit," she says, a detached sort of tone in her voice. "And I figured it was better to let everyone think I was dead. If not, I would be right now. Either I would have been expected to do it myself, because that's what hunters are supposed to do when they get bit, or someone would have done it for me. Some would have expected mum and dad to do it. That's the way this world works, Zayn, and I couldn't do that to them, to any of you."

Zayn honestly has no idea what he's expected to say to that. His mind is blank. His blood is thundering in his ears, making it sound almost like someone's blowing in them. Is he supposed to tell her it's okay? That's it was okay for her to do that to them because she had a  _reason_? Is he supposed to just forget about it and be happy that she's there? Is he supposed to cry? Or is he supposed to get angry at her? Is he supposed to yell and demand a better explanation?

He doesn't know, so instead he doesn't do anything.

"I'm sorry," Doniya says softly. "I'm so sorry."

It's like he hasn't spoken in years, because his voice cracks and doesn't work when he tries to talk, and the words get all jumbled even after he's cleared his throat and tried again. "Okay," he gets out finally.

"That's it?" Doniya asks. "Okay?"

"I don't know what else to say."

She chews her lip for a long moment before hugging him tightly. Too tightly, his side exploding in pain, light flashing behind his eyelids. He lets out a gasps that gets choked in his throat, and Doniya jumps away from him.

"Shit," she groans. "Shit, shit. Your possessive boyfriend is just outside, and— okay, now he's breaking into the house. I think he thinks I hurt you. Just—," she grabs his shoulders, tugs him off the bed, and then she pushes him in the direction of the door. "Go tell him you're fine before he charges in here and tries to kill me."

Zayn stumbles into the hallway, trying to find something to grab onto. His balance is off, his head is still swimming from  _everything,_ like the amount of blood he'd lost, the pain killers, and also the fact that his dead sister is apparently not dead but  _is_  a werewolf, and so is his boyfriend, and  _how did this become his life_? He really doesn't know. And maybe, just maybe, it's taking its toll on him, because he stands there in the hallway, leaning against the bathroom doorknob as his breathing comes out in pants and his hands shake.

Someone steps up behind him. He tenses, eyes widening until Liam says, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Relaxing a bit, he lets his grip on the doorknob loosen, but he can't seem to let it go completely. He can't school the shaking that seems to go through his whole body now, either, and he can't seem to get his eyes to focus. He's pretty sure he's in shock. Lovely.

"Can I touch you?" Liam's voice is small. He can't tell if it's just lowered, or if he's having issues hearing over his own panicked puffs of breath. "Is that okay?"

Closing his eyes, Zayn ducks his head and breathes out, "Yeah."

Liam's hand hovers over his back for a moment, like he can't decide  _where_ , and finally it settles on his shoulders. He rubs calming circles there before leaning in and brushing his fingertips lightly over Zayn's jaw. "You're okay," Liam tells him. "You're fine. Just let go of the door and we'll go sit in your room, alright?"

Zayn nods. "Okay," he agrees, but he sort of can't move. "Can you—?"

As gently as possible, Liam pulls his fingers from around the doorknob, one by one. He bends a bit, hands going to the back of Zayn's thighs, and suddenly he's off the ground, being swept off his feet (literally) and carried down the hall to his room.

"That was probably unnecessary," Zayn says once Liam's dropped him on the bed. "I would have been okay in, like, two more minutes."

"Your hands are still shaking," Liam informs him.

He looks down and, sure enough, they are. He sighs, pushes them through his hair, and then leans over to grab his cigarette pack. He pulls his lighter out of his drawer, too, and then lights up right there in his room, even though he tries not to do that because his parents would kill him if they knew.

"It's been a long day," he says, exhaling slowly to let the smoke drift up in front of his face, obscuring his view of Liam for a moment. "I'm glad you're staying tonight."

"We can talk about it, if you want," Liam offers. "Or you can talk and I can listen."

Zayn shakes his head and stands up, careful to move slowly. That's a good idea, too, because he still gets a head rush as he makes his way towards his window. He opens it, pops the screen out, and then leans halfway out it to let the cold air hopefully cool him down, and also to flick his ash on the ground below.

"No," he says. "No, let's just go to bed." He takes one more drag, flicks the cigarette onto the lawn, and then shuts the window. "If that's okay with you."

Liam removes his shoes, slides them under the bed, carefully unzips his sweater and hangs it on the closet door, and then he gets into Zayn's bed. A moment later, Zayn crosses the room to flick off the light, and then he gets in beside Liam and wills himself to sleep. He doesn't want to think anymore, and his dreams are always far better than reality.

 

—

 

Thursday isn't a good day for anyone. Zayn wakes up feeling like shit, even though Liam's arm is around him and his lips are so close to Zayn's skin. Still, he opts to go to school. He's been hurt before, worse than this, and he'll be fine. He just needs to be careful, needs to not move too much. Both his mother and Liam fight him on this, but he ignores them.

He never realized until now just how much they rely on Harry's sunny disposition to lighten the mood. Not until it was gone, and he's sulking the whole day and pointedly ignoring Louis until he tries to sit with them at lunch. Then he glares, spits out a few harsh words, and he stomps away from the table.

Louis is just as moody once he's gone. He spends the whole period bitching and asking them what the hell he's supposed to tell his team. What his excuse is for not playing the game, because they're all going to be angry at him.

Niall isn't even there. Zayn calls him between periods to make sure he's okay, and he is, he's just a little shaken from the head trauma, and supposedly he has a concussion so he won't be back to school until Monday.

Friday is much of the same, except Louis is possibly even more pissy, since his team is giving him the cold shoulder because they'd nearly lost without him yesterday. Even Liam is mostly quiet, pushing his food around on his plate while keeping his gaze on it.

What does he do here? He has no idea what to say, or if Liam even wants him to say anything. Maybe Liam's happier to be left alone to go over his thoughts, which is why he doesn't ask him what's wrong. Instead he eats with his left hand, even if it's awkward, and he holds Liam's with his right.

"What's wrong?" Harry demands. Unlike Zayn, he apparently has no qualms about interrupting Liam's thoughts.

Liam blinks up at him, expression blank, fork poised halfway to his mouth. The piece of pasta that had been speared by the prongs slips off and falls onto his plate, making a squelching sound because of the sauce sticking to it. "Huh?"

Pointing his own fork accusingly, Harry says, "You've been quiet the last two days, and you look about ready to stab yourself in the face. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Liam insists. He restabs the pasta. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Louis says. "Poodle-head is right. You've been off, Liam."

Zayn's fairly certain that he's the only one picking up on Liam's discomfort, which is probably because he's the only one holding Liam's hand and sitting close enough to him to feel the way his body tenses. "Let it go," Zayn says, voice low.

"We're just  _worried_ ," Louis says. Harry nods, and that's the first time they've agreed on anything that Zayn can remember.

"Don't worry about me," Liam snaps. "Okay? I don't want you to worry about me. I'm  _fine_. I can't take care of myself, thanks. But Zayn can't, and Harry can't, and Niall isn't here right now because  _he_  can't. And maybe it's getting to me because everyone's getting hurt and they  _shouldn't_  be, and— and I should have been there before he hurt you." He turns to Zayn, a broken look on his face before he rotates his body to look at Harry instead. "Before your mum got hurt, too. And Niall. But I wasn't, and I couldn't do  _anything_ , and I hate myself for it."

The hand holding his disappears. Zayn's chest tightens as he breathes out, "Liam."

Shaking his head, Liam stands up, taking his tray with him. Zayn turns in his seat, watching Liam move quickly through the room. He tosses out his leftover lunch and then pushes out the doors of the cafeteria without turning back around.

"I'll go talk to him," Louis says abruptly. He stands up, but Harry grabs his arm rather roughly. "What?"

"That's my best friend," Harry reminds him. "He doesn't even  _like_  you. I'll go talk to him."

"No." Louis shakes his head. "I know you might not believe it, but I care about all of you, too. I know what he's going through right now better than either of you, because I feel the same way.  _I'll_  go talk to him."

Harry releases Louis' arm and frowns at him. He doesn't say anything, neither does Zayn, and Louis takes their silence as permission. He follows Liam's path out of the room, leaving Harry and Zayn behind, Harry staring after him.

"Do you think he meant it?" Harry asks.

"Meant what?" Zayn responds.

"That he— cares, or whatever."

For the first time that day, Zayn's lips tilt up in a smile. "Yeah. I do."

Harry nods. Zayn tries to go back to finishing his lunch, but the already disgusting cafeteria food tastes like cardboard after that, and he can't be bothered. He pushes his tray away and digs around in his pocket until he finds his lighter, and then he stands up.

"Where are  _you_  going?" Harry asks. "You're not leaving me too, are you?"

Yeah, he was, actually. He's still not sure if Harry even likes him, and the uncomfortable silence was getting to him. Still, he knows how much he hated being left alone when Louis and Niall started sitting at this table instead of their other one. "I was going to go visit Niall," he admits. "Do you want to come?"

"Yes," Harry says immediately. "I was about ready to rip out my hair just sitting here, actually."

It's a little awkward. He insists on driving, since Harry's truck seems like it might actually be a danger to society, and he has no idea what to say. He's just reaching for the radio, ready to turn it up loud enough that conversation won't be necessary, when Harry speaks.

"So what are you two doing tonight?" he asks while flicking the air freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror.

"On our date," Zayn clarifies. Harry nods. "Um. I don't know. We're going to do dinner and a movie, I think."

"Clichéd, but there's nothing wrong with that," Harry comments. "What movie?"

"I don't know," Zayn says again. They hadn't really thought this out, had they? "I don't even know what's playing."

"Take him to see Iron Man 3," Harry tells him. "He's been dying to see it since it came out, and there's a showing tonight at seven. If you get him peanut M&Ms, he'll love you forever. And he'll probably insist on splitting the bill. You should let him. Don't fight him on it. Liam likes to do shit like that because that's just how he is."

He gives Harry a lost look, pulling his gaze from the road for only a moment. "I thought you didn't like me," he admits. "And now you're helping me win Liam over?"

Harry rolls his eyes and drums his fingers on the dashboard. "I like you just fine, now that I know you're not a raging psychopath who's going to try to kill my best friend." He flashes Zayn a bright smile after that. "And I'm not helping you win him over. You already did that. I'm just assuring myself that tonight will be as good for Liam as he's hoping it'll be."

Zayn's fingers reflexively tighten around the steering wheel. "So he's got big expectations for tonight, then?" he asks. His words sound dry and choked.

With a smirk on his face, Harry bumps their shoulders together. "Nervous?"

"No."

"It's okay if you are," Harry says seriously. "I mean, I know I would be. Like, if there was ever a date that was destined to go bad, it's probably this one. Werewolf goes on date with the son of a werewolf hunter, who's also training to be a werewolf hunter when he's older, while another pack of werewolves are practically massacring the town, and no one has no idea how to stop them—,"

Harry only stops when Zayn nearly crashes the car.

"So you are nervous, then," Harry guesses. He pats Zayn's shoulder. "No one can blame you for that."

Zayn stares mutely out the window, thinking that moving to this town is possibly the worst thing that ever happened to him.

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

A small package falls into his lap. He looks down at it, surprised, but Zayn's still staring straight ahead at the screen, completely engrossed in the movie. Frowning, Liam grabs it and examines the small bag before a smile fights its way onto his face. "Peanut M&Ms," he says. "How'd you know?"

Zayn shrugs. "Just watch the movie, Liam."

After ripping open the small package, he does just that. "Thank you," he adds before tossing a small handful into his mouth.

There's no response from Zayn, but Liam can see the pleased look on his face, even in the dark.

The very best thing about going to the theatre with Zayn is the fact that he's just as into the movie as Liam. There's no talking or whispering throughout. He doesn't fidget and look bored. He grabs Liam's hand at the best parts, gripping almost too tightly in excitement. He laughs at the same time as Liam does, chews his lips nervously at others.

By the time the lights come back on and everyone starts to stand up, stretching and yawning and blinking from the brightness, something warm and perfect has settled over him. Something that only intensifies when Zayn's arm falls over his shoulder and his fingers press in, just the right amount.

"So," Zayn says once they're back in his car. He fiddles with the keys in the ignition, pulling them out halfway before pushing them back in. "I sort of had to be home about fifteen minutes ago." He winces, looking more than a little apologetic. "I'm sorry that we can't—,"

Liam snorts loudly. He doesn't mean to, it just sort of happens. Zayn's whole expression falls into one of hurt and embarrassment. "No, I was just— it's—," Liam grabs his hand, trying to tell him with his eyes what he'd meant. "Tonight was great. Seriously. Perfect, even, so I don't see why you're feeling bad about  _anything_."

"Really." Zayn's tone is flat and his lips purse afterwards, eyebrows raising in disbelief.

"It honestly baffles me that you're insecure about this," Liam admits, gaze flicking between Zayn's eyes. "I really wish I could make you see that there's no reason to be."

Zayn groans and starts the car, pulling quickly out of the lot. Liam must look shocked because he quickly explains, "I'm getting you home now, because the faster you get inside and tell your mum you're going to bed, the faster you can come over to mine and I can kiss you the way that I want to."

"Oh," Liam says. "Drive faster, then."

Zayn chuckles but does so. They pull up in front of Liam's house minutes later, and he leaves the engine running. Liam goes to get out right away, but Zayn hits the button that locks all the doors in the car and leans over the seat divider.

"Don't want to wait," he says with a sheepish look.

Liam leans in, crossing that final distance between them. The moment their lips brush, he hears his mother shout, "I hope you realize I can see you! Keep it above the waist, boys!"

Jerking back, he feels his cheeks burn and Zayn doesn't look any better. Still, Zayn rolls down his window and calls, "Hello, Karen. How are you tonight?"

He can see her, leaning in the open door, the light of the house illuminating her figure. She has her arms crossed over her chest and an amused look on her face, though he can tell she's struggling to look firm and intimidating. "I'm doing just fine, Zayn, thank you."

Zayn grins at her. It isn't until he turns that grin on Liam that it becomes obvious how tight and forced it is. "Your mother scares me," he says between his teeth,  _still_  smiling. "I'm gonna go."

"You hunt werewolves for a living, but you're afraid of my mother?"

Zayn nods, a serious look on his face. Liam laughs and kisses him again, but he doesn't let it linger or last longer than a few seconds. He hears his mother cough, pulls back, and winces in embarrassment. "See you in a bit," he says quietly, so she won't hear, before getting out of the car.

He waits on the sidewalk, watching the car move own the street and disappear around the corner.

"Did you have fun?" asks his mother when he gets up to the door.

"Not really," he answers, deadpan. "He's got this really overprotective mother. It's a turnoff."

"You're not funny," his mother informs him, but she messes up his hair on the way in the house.

"What are you talking about?" Liam asks, pretending to be wounded. "I'm extremely funny."

She rolls her eyes at him, but as she shuts the door, she gives him a considering look. "You really like this boy, don't you? He makes you happy."

That sums it up, really. He likes Zayn. Zayn makes him happy. Most of the time, at least. When he's not too busy worrying about the fact that this shouldn't work. When he's not wondering if Zayn thinks that, too. When he's not freaking out because everyone that he cares about is so vulnerable, and he has no idea what he'd do if any of them ever got seriously hurt.

"I think he could," Liam say finally, going for honesty. If things were different, he thinks Zayn could make him really happy. As it is, half the time it feels like Zayn is driving him crazy in the best way, and the other half, it's the worst.

She asks him if they ate while they were out, Liam promises her they did, and then he lies and says he's spent and he's going to bed early. She looks a bit suspicious at this, keeps giving him looks out the corner of her eyes when she thinks he's not looking, but she doesn't ask him what he's up to.

He takes a shower first, rushing through his normal routine. Running a finger over his jaw, he decides to skip shaving. It's not like Zayn seemed to mind the stubble in the car, right? Right. So he skips straight to brushing his teeth, putting on deodorant, a single spray of body spray, and then he dresses in comfortable pair of track pants (he's going to be sleeping in this, he reminds himself) and a clean t-shirt, forgoing the sweater because he won't really need it. He's going to be running to Zayn's, and he'll be inside after that until morning, when he runs home.

As is the norm lately, Zayn's window is left wide open for him, screen popped out. The lights inside the room are turned off, but he can still see fairly well thanks to the moon shinning into the room through the average sized window. Jumping onto the roof and swinging into the room is easy by this point; he doesn't even have to think, he just does, and seconds later he's landing softly on Zayn's floor.

He goes to turn on the lamp on the bedside table, but Zayn's voice rings through the room, a soft and whispered, "Wait, wait." Zayn flicks his lighter and a small candle lights up. The flame isn't tall, and it doesn't do much more than cast a warm glow on everything. The corners of the room are still dark, and he doubts anyone will be able to see the light if they walked by. "I wanted to get really cheesy here. Did it work?"

"Maybe," Liam admits. He tucks his shoes under the bed as Zayn throws back the covers so he can climb in. It's about then that Liam notices the fact that Zayn's shirt is gone. He can't tell if anything else has been taken off, but that doesn't stop him from getting into the bed anyways. It just makes him swallow a little thickly and clear his throat as quietly as he can manage.

When he's comfortable, he turns to face Zayn. The candle casts shadows on his face, black sweeping over his cheeks every time his eyes blink and his lashes flutter. Zayn is impossibly pretty, and Liam doesn't care if maybe some people say that guys can't be pretty, because he's pretty fucking sure that, if you looked in the direction for that word, a picture of Zayn would be beside the definition as an example. Or should be, anyways.

"What?" Zayn asks, tone slightly sharp. He reaches for Liam's hand under the comforter and fits their fingers together to make up for that.

"Do you want an answer, or are you going to kiss me?" Liam teases.

Zayn opens his mouth and closes it a second later. He chuckles softly, like Liam is amusing or something, and then throws one leg over Liam's waist and balances himself with a hand on each side of Liam's body. "I thought you stay here to make sure my family and I are safe," he adds when he's done. "Not to fool around with me."

Liam grips Zayn's hips and looks up at him. "I do," he says. "We can go to bed, if you want."

"Yeah, that's definitely what I want to do." Zayn rolls his eyes and leans down, falling until he's held up on his elbows instead. His nose bumps against Liam's, and his breath is damp and warm on Liam's upper lip. "Do you think we're crazy?"

That definitely was not what he expected to hear right now. "Um. No?"

Zayn sighs and tilts his head a bit until he's breathing against Liam's neck instead, Liam unable to see the look on his face. "We're just sort of destined to not work, you know? So are we saying a big  _fuck you_  to the universe by doing this, or are we just making it worse for ourselves when the inevitable happens and something tears us apart?"

Maybe he knows that Zayn's right, but that doesn't mean he's going to admit it. "I think that maybe," he starts, hands sliding up Zayn's back, over the bumps of his spine, "we should stop worry about what could happen, and just enjoy what  _is_  happening, at this very moment."

"That was deep," Zayn laughs. The sound dies in his throat a moment later, and he cuts off the last of it when he finally moves his lips to Liam's.

Liam tries not to get too lost in it, tries to listen and make sure that no one comes down the hall or somehow catches them. It isn't long until Zayn's making needy little noises against his lips, though, and paying attention to anything else is suddenly impossible. He tries not to rut up against Zayn, tries not to dig his nails in or let out he loud sounds that threaten to slip between his lips. Instead he moves them down Zayn's jaw as he tries to breathe easier and focus himself because he knows that this could be potentially dangerous if he fully lost himself.

What's not helping is the way Zayn is now grinding down against him while simultaneously biting at Liam's neck and trying to push up his shirt. Blunt, human nails scratch at Liam's stomach, almost tracing the trail of hair there that continues on under the waistband of his jeans.

"Can— can we?" Zayn asks, a breathless quality to his voice. This time the nails scratch a little lower, right against the top of his boxers. Zayn's eyes are wide and imploring, hopeful.

"Um." Liam licks his lips to buy himself a moment, but all that does is make Zayn's taste linger in his mouth, like sweet peppermint toothpaste, the kind you use when you're a kid that's sort of gritty and sugary and probably not all that good for your teeth, but it tastes better. "I'm not sure if— if we could—,"

"I trust you," Zayn insists. "It'll be fine. We'll— we'll go slow, be careful. I trust you."

It's not that he doesn't want to. Fuck, he wants to. He really, really,  _really_  wants to, so badly that the want is making it difficult to think. Except he knows how unwise it would be. Remembers that first night, in his own bedroom, when he'd ripped through Zayn's jeans with his claws without meaning to, and all they'd done was kiss.

"It'll be like what you and Harry do," Zayn offers. "He teaches you how to control yourself, right? All it takes is some practise and focus. You can't just go your whole life not having sex, Liam. And like I said, I trust you."

He probably shouldn't, but Liam isn't about to say that. Isn't about to mention the fact that he honestly doesn't trust himself with Zayn at all, for several reasons. This is mostly because Zayn has a hand on his crotch, and he's cupping Liam's erection while giving Liam a questioning look.

"Okay," he says, because fuck if that isn't persuasive and how many people could really say no to that anyways?

Zayn smiles in a way that is probably too sweet and happy for what they're about to do. He fumbles a bit with the button on Liam's jeans, and then he lets out a nervous giggle when he slides them down, revealing the Batman boxers he's got on underneath, which makes him blush until Zayn's hands are on him again, and then any and all embarrassment sort of flies out the still open window.

"Shirt off," he orders, pulling Liam up by the offending material. He unbuttons his own jeans while Liam does as he's told, and then they're kissing again, hands gliding over newly exposed skin. "Should we—,"

"Stop talking," Liam groans. He grabs Zayn's ass, through his boxers, and pulls them more firmly together. Praying it's not painfully obvious that he has literally no experience with this, he grinds his hips up and drags his nails down Zayn's back, careful to be sure that they're not sharp enough to cut.

Zayn moans into his mouth, and Liam wonders if there are angry red marks going down his shoulder blades and ending just where his back dips above his ass. He wonders if his lips are staining Zayn's skin purple and red and pink, and he sincerely hopes so. Wants there to be visual proof of this tomorrow.

A hand slips beneath the waistband of his boxers. Fingers squeeze his thigh, first, so close to where he needs them, yet so far. Zayn smirks against his jaw before finding Liam's lips again. He bites softly at the bottom one, tugging it a bit, a playful look on his face as that hand finally moves and loosely grips Liam's cock.

That restless feeling he gets before the full moon is back, but it's sort of different. It's like a burning under his skin, one that makes him feel like he's sweating and burning up. He leans up a bit to get a better look at what Zayn's doing to him, and he realizes belatedly that the helpless panting he hears is coming from himself.

When Zayn's palm brushes over the head, smearing any precome there, the whine that tears through the room is his own, too, and he falls back against the mattress, unable to hold himself up.

"Hey," Zayn says quietly. He keeps stroking Liam slowly, never fast enough to bring him right to the edge, just enough to keep him frustrated and writhing on the bed, clawing at the bed sheets. "Liam."

He blinks, red in his vision fading. "H-hey."

Lips press sloppily to his collarbone. "You look so hot like this," Zayn says, a secret whispered in the dark. "Told you that you could handle it."

There's no way he could formulate a response to that, so instead he just grips the sheets a little tighter and tries to stop his back from arching off the bed as Zayn's wrist twists, his grip tightens, and Liam's brain shuts off. "Faster," he grunts. "Zayn, please, just—,"

"Whatever you need," Zayn says, giving him just that.

The tension that seemed to be coiling his body, making every muscle taught and his chest tight, suddenly gives. It snaps, actually, and the sound of fabric ripping is loud in the room. Not as loud as the moan Zayn lets out when Liam comes over his fingers and bites down hard on his shoulder, restraining himself just enough to stop his teeth from breaking skin.

"I think you just ripped my sheets," Zayn mumbles against him. He pulls his hand out of Liam's boxers and pushes himself up, looking on the verge of laughing— or dry humping Liam. It's sort of a fight between the two, really.

"I'm sorry," Liam gasps. "I didn't mean to. I—,"

"Better than my throat," Zayn says. "Now can we maybe work on, um, me. Maybe. I mean, you don't have to, but…."

It takes no effort for him to put an arm around Zayn's waist, lift himself up, and flip them so Zayn's laying flat against the mattress. The way he moved them leaves their feet where the pillows are, but neither of them are complaining. Nor is Liam complaining about the fact that there's come drying on his boxers, but he probably will later. And Zayn'll probably care a bit more about the ripped bed sheets later, too.

There's a huge, purple mark on Zayn's shoulder, right where he'd bitten. For a moment he frowns to himself and presses at it until Zayn's squirming and pushing his hand away, guiding it downward. "Impatient," Liam hums, but he doesn't say it like it's a bad thing.

"I just—" Zayn's thrusts up against his hand as soon as he places it over his cock where it's tenting his boxers, "— want you."

There are other marks covering Zayn's skins, ones that he struggles to make out in the flickering candle light. Writing on his collarbone, and his hip. A heart. Wings on his chest. The ones on his forearm that he'd already memorized weeks ago.

Liam wonders if maybe they'll taste different. If maybe his heightened senses will allow him to pick up on the ink in his skin. He licks over the center of the wings tattoo, tasting nothing but salt from sweat and  _Zayn_.

Zayn's nails dig into his back, not at all trying to be gentle or careful. Liam lifts an eyebrow and Zayn says "What? Stop teasing me," in a shaky, rough voice.

"Sorry," Liam says, half-hearted. He's kind of not, really. He likes the sounds Zayn makes when he kisses down his chest, and then his stomach. Likes watching the muscles there tighten. "Do you think we could try—?"

Zayn blinks down at him. It takes a moment for what Liam wants to register, and when it does, Zayn's breath seems to be tugged out of him all at once. "Yeah." He nods fiercely. "If you want to, yeah."

Later, maybe, he'll be smug about that response. Right now he's too busy mouthing at the writing on Zayn's hip and tugging down his boxers. He lifts off the bed so Liam can tug them off, and then they're gone and Zayn's cock curves up towards his stomach.

"I've kind of never, um. So. It might not be…," he trails off and waves a hand before wrapping the other one around Zayn's shaft.

He's watched porn, right? He can do this.

Finger tug through the tufts of hair on the top of his head. It's not Zayn trying to get him to get on with this, it's him assuring Liam that he's happy with whatever. That if he wants to stop this, he can. Liam nods imperceptibly before ducking his head a bit. He licks his lips, presses them to the top of Zayn's thigh first, and then he shifts a bit, getting more comfortable, settling between Zayn's legs.

The first contact with his tongue has Zayn's head falling back against the pillows and a drawn-out groan to come from his mouth. Liam's buy focusing on doing this right. He licks over the head first, getting a feel for things. His breathing is almost as nervous as Zayn's, so he wraps his lips around it next to hide that.

Zayn's legs shake on either side of him, and he puts his freehand on Zayn's hip, over the heart tattoo to stop him from moving to much. The hand in his hair moves down to his neck as his lips slide lower. Nails scratch at the short hairs there, and Liam tries to take as much of Zayn in as he can. Except he wasn't exactly pacing himself, and Zayn isn't exactly small, and he ends up coughing a bit and pulling off.

Before Zayn can suggest they stop or something, he swallows and goes back down, this time descending more gradually until he gets used to the heavy feeling of Zayn on his tongue, and the taste of him when he hits the back of Liam's throat. He might sort of like it, the way Zayn tastes. Salty, like his skin, but  _more_. More  _him_ , but he can't really explain it.

Once he's got a good grasp of what he should be doing — breathing through his nose, making sure his teeth aren't in the equation, using his hand with what he can't get in his mouth—, Zayn is a mess. His chin is tilted up, throat bared, and his back is arched a bit. He's got a filthy mouth, too, because the string of profanities that come from his lips are fairly impressive, actually, but they're also loud and Liam doesn't want him to alert his parents to what they're doing.

"Shh," he coaxes, releasing Zayn's cock for a moment to cup his cheek instead.

"Sorry," Zayn struggles to get out. "Sorry. Just— don't stop, yeah?"

It's easier to stay in control when it's the other way around, and it's satisfying, watching Zayn fall apart like this. Unlike Liam, he doesn't try to mask how good he's feeling. He doesn't stop his hips from jerking up, or his hands from fisting in Liam's hair and then curling around his bicep, or gripping the pillow underneath his head tightly.

He knows Zayn's close before Zayn says anything. Can tell from the way his whole body goes tense and his eyes squeeze closed. He pulls up, licking over the tip again as he works his hand faster. Zayn physically pulls him away and covers Liam's hand with his own, quickening his pace, and it isn't long before he's coming over their fingers and collapsing against the bed.

Liam brushes the strands of hair off Zayn's forehead that stick there with sweat. "Was that okay?"

Zayn shakes his head. "I think maybe you really are crazy if you actually had to ask that."

There's awkward fumbling and forced chuckles as they get cleaned up. This time, Liam falls back into the bed in just his sweatpants, his boxers somewhere in Zayn's hamper.

"I don't know how I'm going to get used to sleeping without you once it's not necessary anymore," Zayn says. He traces a pattern on Liam's chest before frowning and pushing himself up.

"Maybe you won't have to," Liam offers. "I mean, I could always sneak in here still. For old times' sake."

Zayn digs around in his bedside drawer for a moment. He apparently finds what he wanted and closes the drawer before facing Liam again. He grabs Liam's wrist, uncaps the pen, and writes, 'okay'. Then he holds Liam down and writes all over him. Liam isn't stopping him, either.

There's a heart on his own hip, matching Zayn's. A Deathly Hallows symbol on his left wrist ("Do you even know what that is?" "I watched the movies, I know what it is, Zayn."). A half moon on his ankle. The words 'I like you' on his chest, accompanied by a smiley face and Zayn's initials. 'Mine' on his left thigh, and then an arrow that points to his dick, which has Zayn cackling and Liam blushing.

Liam snatches the pen from him and tells Zayn to roll over. He straddles his waist and runs his fingertips over the tattoo at the back of Zayn's neck before adding more ink to the skin not far from there. He's a really shit drawer, he is, and the wolf kind of sucks, but he doesn't care. You can tell what it is, anyways, and that's all he wanted.

"Just one?" Zayn asks when he recaps the pen.

"I think you've already got plenty," Liam jests.

Zayn goes to answer, but instead he ends up yawning. Liam does the same a second later, so they toss the pen away and curl up, facing each other, Zayn's hand in his between their bodies. "Night, Liam," Zayn says as his eyelids droop lower with every blink.

"Night," Liam echoes.

They fall asleep like that, with the blankets kicked down to their waists and their foreheads almost pressed together.

 

—

 

It's like being pulled from a good dream and thrust into a nightmare. The bed is so warm, as is Zayn's arm, which found its way around him in the middle of the night. They might be spooning, that might actually be what's happening, and it's so  _nice_  and  _warm_  and  _comforting_.

Until the howl pierces the air and has him sitting upright, eyes wide with panic. Zayn's slower to react. He sits up, rubs at his eyes, and then he focuses a confused look on Liam until an answering howl reverberates through the room. Or maybe it only sounds like that to Liam, because his hearing is far better, but he's fairly sure that they're close. Too close.

Even in the dark (the candle burned down until the wax was actually stuck to his nightstand and it had went out on its own) he can see the way Zayn swallows and his breath hitches in his chest. "Was that—?"

Liam nods and swings his legs out of bed. "Go wake up your parents," he says while sweeping a leg under the bed to get his shoes out. He slips them on without care, stepping on the backs until they're flattened. He has to hook a finger between his heel and his shoe to fix that, but whatever.

"Where are you going?" Zayn wants to know. He tugs on his own shirt while Liam searches for his own, but another animalistic sound has them both freezing. "You're not going out there alone, Liam."

"You're right." He locates his phone, tucked deep into the pocket of his sweatpants. He finds Louis' number and presses talk before smiling weakly at Zayn. "I'm going with Louis."

But Louis doesn't answer, and he hears Zayn's father shout from down the hall, "Zayn!"

"Shit," Zayn says. He looks between Liam and the door. "I— I don't—,"

"Go," Liam orders. "I'll be fine. Just take care of yourself."

"What are you going to do?" Zayn demands.

"I'm, um." He pauses, floundering for an answer because he doesn't really have one. He doesn't get to figure out one, either, because his phone is ringing. He figures it's Louis calling him back, but it's not. "Hello?"

"Liam," says a man on the other end. He doesn't have time for this, and he can't recognize the voice. He goes to snap something at him before hanging up, but then the guy says, "My name is Eli. I work with your mother."

Everything inside him goes cold. "Okay," he says. "Um. Is there any reason you're calling?"

"There's been a bit of an accident," Eli says. "At your house. Someone broke in, and your mother—,"

"What's wrong?" Zayn mouths at him. Liam shakes his head and closes his eyes to block out the concerned look on Zayn's face.

"Is she okay?" Liam asks, as calm and in control as he can manage.

"They have her in the ICU at the moment," Eli admit grudgingly. "She should be okay, though. Aside from the bleeding and the head trauma, nothing seems fatal. But she said that you should have been at home, and she's been asking for you. I got your number from her cellphone. Is there any possible way you could get here as soon as possible?"

"I'll be there," Liam promises. "Right away. Give me five minutes."

"I'll let her know if I can," Eli says.

The call ends and he pockets his phone before taking a deep breath. "I have to go."

"What—?"

"My mum," Liam tells him. There's no emotion in his voice, nothing to portray just how scared he feels. "She's at the hospital. Apparently there was a break in, or something. She got hurt."

Zayn's father calls his name again, and he winces at the panic that sounds in the older man's voice. "Be safe, okay?" Zayn says. He leans forward and kisses Liam's cheek. "I'll call you. Let you know what's happening. You do the same."

"Promise." And then he's out the window, taking only one look back.

It doesn't take him long to figure out what's going on. They have the house mostly surrounded. The howls continue, like they're letting everyone inside know exactly where they are. One sounds from the left, then the right, then behind him and in front of him, until they're all doing it at the same time, filling the night with the blood chilling sound.

It's like he's being pulled in two directions. Part of him is begging to stay and make sure Zayn and his family are okay, while another part needs to go to his mum. The thing is, Zayn has his parents. His mother doesn't have any one else.

Still, he follows the nearest howl and hears someone moving around in the woods with him. The howling cuts off abruptly, but the others keep up. It doesn't matter. Liam can still smell him, masked only slightly by the rest of the cents of the forest.

He recognizes it instantly as the one that he'd attacked on Halloween. It growls, low in its throat, like a warning. Liam leaps at it without hesitation, claws extending and gripping its shoulder. They fall to the ground, branches snapping under their combined weight. It tries to throw Liam off, tries to scratch and bite at him. Liam jumps off him seconds later and runs.

Just like he planned, it follows him. He keeps running, never going full out, always keeping the thing close enough that he can hear its footsteps whispering over the hard packed dirt.

"Seriously?" he shouts at no one in particular when his phone rings in his pocket.

He can't stop running, not unless he wants the other werewolf to jump him. It's not easy to get his phone out of his pocket while he's dodging trees, though. Somehow he manages, and he presses talk and barks out a breathless, "What?"

"Are you running?" Harry asks, sounding perplexed.

"Yes. I'm— a little busy— right now." He jumps over a fallen branch, but the guy behind him isn't as quick. He hears the sound of it falling, breath knocked out of it. Ridiculously enough, Liam laughs, loud and unabashed. "Gotta— let you go, Harry."

"Wait!" Harry says loudly. "Where are you going?"

"My mum— hospital," Liam gets out. Maybe it doesn't make sense, but he figures Harry will understand anyways.

"I'll be there in ten."

He drops his phone while trying to pocket it. The seconds it would take to stop and pick it up aren't worth it. He needs to keep going and get this thing off his trail so he can get to the hospital without risk of it following him through the doors.

Eventually he's got to stop running through the forest, and instead he turns and cuts through someone's backyard. He can't hear anyone behind him anymore, and he pauses after he's jumped the fence, listening intently. Far, far in the distance, he can hear the howling again. Other than that, there's nothing.

Harry is waiting for him at the hospital. His truck is parked in the lot, and he's standing by the front entrance, keys clenched tightly in his hand. He's tense, too, and he doesn't relax even when Liam jogs up to him, and then past him, and heads inside. He does follow, though.

"Liam," says the secretary behind the front desk. Liam knows her from the years his mum has worked here, and he's fairly sure her name is Katherine. "Is there something I can help you with, hun? It's a bit late, isn't it?"

"My mum," Liam says in a clipped tone. "Which room is she in?"

Katherine's thin brown eyebrows draw together. "She went home hours ago when her shift ended."

Liam shakes his head. "No, I got a call from— from someone who works with her? Eli? He said that my mum was here. That there was a break in, or something, and she's in ICU."

Katherine continues to frown at him. "I'll check my records," she says. Her fingers move too slowly over the keys on her keyboard, and each little  _clickclickclick_  has him gritting his teeth impatiently. "Hmm," Katherine murmurs. She doesn't elaborate on that. Instead she picks up the phone beside her computer. "Yes, it's Katherine from the front desk. I was wondering if Karen Payne has been admitted tonight? Are you sure? Yes, I was just— okay. Thank you very much." She hangs up and turns to Liam. "She's not here."

"She  _has_  to be," Liam insists. "I—,"

"Come on," Harry says, tugging on his arm. Liam lets him, lets Harry guide him out of the building. "Call your house," he orders once they're outside.

Liam digs in his pocket for his phone before remembering. "I can't. I don't have my phone."

Eyes rolling, Harry hands his over. Liam searches the contacts, presses talk on the one labelled 'Leeyum home' and brings the phone up to his ear. Three rings and his mother answers with a yawned, tired, "Hello?"

"You're okay," Liam says without thinking.

"Liam?" she asks. "Is that you? Why are you calling— why are you calling from  _Harry's phone_? You better be in your bed, young man. Do you—  _oh_. Oh no. You've  _got_  to be kidding me, Liam! It's three in the morning!"

She's fine. That means that whoever called him had sent him on a wild goose chase. Why? What was the point of that? And, on top of that, now his mother is going to kill him. Either that or handcuff him to the bed posts until he's eighteen.

"Are you even listening to me?" his mother snaps. "You get home  _right now_. Do you hear me? I am so disappointed in you. If you would have just  _asked_  I would have let you go to Harry's. It's the sneaking around that's upsetting me. What were you  _thinking_?"

"I'm sorry," he says. "I've got to go. I love you. You can ground me when I get home, I promise."

He hangs up on her shouting at him. He feels guilty, he really does. She worries about him, and maybe this time it's for good reason.

"Give me my phone back," Harry orders. Liam does, and he looks around at the trees surrounding the building as Harry calls someone. "Hey, Louis—,"

"I know! I'm not moving!" Louis shouts, cutting him off. There's a second of silence before Louis says, "Sorry, I thought you were Zayn or Niall again."

"You've talked to them?" Harry asks.

Liam wants to yank the phone back out of his hands and demand to know what Zayn said, if he's okay, if they're all okay. Instead he bites down hard on his tongue until the taste of blood fills his mouth, and then he changes tactics and digs his nails into his palms.

"Yeah, about fifteen times," Louis says, not sounding pleased. "It's not like there was any reason for it, either. I can't do anything to help. They both told me not to leave the house no matter what because I'd end up getting killed by Zayn's parents or something instead of helping. Oh, and tell Liam to stop seething. Zayn's fine. He just dropped his sisters off at Niall's and he and Niall are going back to the house to fight, apparently. His dad wants to end this tonight, and it seems like their pack is thinking the same thing."

As soon as Louis's finished, Liam gives Harry an apologetic look and runs off.

He should probably learn his lesson, at this point. He's so reliant on the enhanced senses that he doesn't notice when he's too caught up in everything else for them to be working right. That's why he doesn't hear the first bullet whiz by him. That's why the second one lodges itself in his hip and fire seems to claw through skin and bone, starting at that point and moving onwards to the rest of his body.

In seconds he's down, and he only just has the energy to roll over and get his face out of the dirt.

"Wolfsbane," someone says. He looks up, meeting a pair of blue eyes that are almost familiar. "One of the only things our kind is actually susceptible too. Did you know that?"

The pain isn't lessening. It's not healing, the way everything else has. In fact, he's fairly certain that the pain is increasing the longer he's laying there. Still, he tries to focus through that and get up. He stumbles, slipping until he falls back onto the dirt.

"As you can tell," the man who shot him says, "I was quite desperate when I bit you. Wasn't my wisest choice, surely. Too noble for you own good. Head strong and stupid. Though I doubt any of us could have predicted you shacking up with a werewolf hunter, eh, Liam?"

"Who— who are you?" Liam asks. There's a weak quality to his voice one that makes his stomach twist more than the pain. Being weak in this situation will be deadly, he knows.

The blue eyes in front of him flash to red in seconds. The man extends a hand and, with a smile on his face, says, "I'm Clark. Nice to formally meet you."

 

* * *

 

**Zayn**

"Do you think he's okay?" Zayn asks for the fifteenth time.

Niall rolls his eyes. "I told you, he's probably  _fine_."

"Right." Zayn nods. It's just that Liam had fucking  _run off_  and Zayn's called him eight times. Eight fucking times and would it  _kill him to pick up_? There's probably a reason, he rationalizes. He just doesn't give a fuck. "Call Harry for me. I don't remember his number."

Niall groans but obeys. A few seconds later and he's handing over the phone while saying, "You realize he's probably better off than either of us right now, right? Superhuman healing and all."

Zayn ignores him. "Harry?"

"What's up?" Harry asks. "Liam—,"

"Is he with you?" He's too impatient to wait for Harry to talk first. He talks slowly, and this is important.

He looks out the window, spotting nothing  _yet_. It's just a matter of time, he thinks. His father does, too, and so does his mother. That's why they're here. In the house. Waiting. They can't let this go on any longer, and if these things want to attack them, then they'll be here waiting. He just wishes Liam would be here waiting with him.

"No," Harry says slowly. "He was going to yours, I think. About twenty minutes ago. He was running. He should be there by now. Should have been there a while ago, actually."

While running a hand over his face, Zayn mutters, "Thanks." He hangs up on Harry and bends down to retie his laces. When that's done, and they're tight and secure, he focuses on loading his crossbow and fingering the arrows he's got strapped to his back. He counts twelve, figures that's good and then starts for the door.

"Where are you going?" Niall asks. "We were told to wait here until they got back."

"Don't care," Zayn says flippantly. "I can't just sit here. I hate just sitting and waiting. I'm going out there. Harry says Liam should have been here a while ago, and he's not. Either there's a normal, logical explanation for why he's not, or he's hurt."

"Shit," Niall says. His hands tug though his hair and he reaches for the pistol laying on the window sill. "I'll come with you."

"It'd be better if you don't," Zayn tells him. Not because Niall isn't an asset. He's seen Niall shoot, knows he has good aim and, unlike Zayn, he never hesitates before pulling the trigger. On the other hand, someone needs to watch the house, and Niall's still recovering from last time they'd went up against this pack. "Just in case someone shows up back here and wonders where we are."

Niall nods slowly. "Okay, but call me if anything happens, alright?"

Once he's outside, Zayn has no idea what to do. He can't hear the howling anymore, but he knows that they're still out there. If they weren't, his parents would have returned already. He has no idea where to start, though. The woods in this town are thick and they're  _everywhere_. Liam could literally be anywhere right now, including back at his own home, totally fine. Or at the hospital, too busy fretting over his mother to come see Zayn, which Zayn would prefer. It'd be safer for him there.

But if he were at either of those places, Harry would have said. Instead, Harry had said he was coming here. And since he's not, Zayn's got to find him and make sure that there's not a reason for the hold up.

"Li _am_ ," he calls softly. "Liam!"

His feet crunch through the leaves and branches on the ground. He lifts his bow, ready to aim and shoot it in seconds, if necessary. If he strains himself, he thinks he can hear other people in the woods. More than one, quickly moving around. There's no shouting, though. Nor is there any growling or howls echoing through the night.

"Liam!" he tries again. He feels stupid. He knows he's  _being_  stupid. Reckless. For some reason he doesn't care. " _Liam_!"

"Zayn!"

He turns, relief flooding him until he realizes that no, that's not Liam's voice. That's his father's, and seconds later, his name is repeated this time by his mother, much louder, a sharpness in her tone that lets him know she's afraid.

Taking one last sweeping look around, he jogs in the direction of her voice.

He expects to find his parents and Clark coming out of the woods, maybe with their clothes torn a bit and his mother's hair falling into her face and their ammo count a lot slimmer. He doesn't expect them to be stumbling and attempting to carry a heavy, unconscious body. He doesn't expect that body to be Liam.

That's what he gets, though.

Zayn stops dead (and chastises himself for using that saying at a moment like this, and then chastises himself for even thinking that) and gapes at their advancement. He knows it's Liam, even if he can't see his face. He recognizes the track pants he's wearing, and the thin t-shirt, and the wrinkled backs of his shoes, ruined from him stepping on them.

"Get in the house," his father grunts, shifting Liam's weight. " _Now_ , Zayn."

"What are you doing with him?" Zayn asks, not moving.

"We'll deal with that when we're inside," his mother says firmly. "Get in the house, dear."

"No." He crosses his arms over his chest. "You hurt him. I'm not going anywhere until—,"

"He attacked Clark," his father states.

Zayn's lips part and he examines the man disbelievingly. But there's a long gash up Clarks leg, tearing his jeans. There's crusted blood on the dark blue material. It's the kind of tear that could only come from something extremely sharp. Something like Liam's claws.

Except— "He wouldn't."

"So you knew, then," his mother guesses. She shifts, Liam's arm falling off her shoulder. He's completely limp, knocked out with  _something._ Zayn has no idea what it takes to put out a werewolf like that, but he has a feeling it's something extremely unpleasant. "You knew about him this whole time, didn't you?"

"Mum," he says after swallowing back the lump in his throat. "Just let me—,"

"Explain? Oh, you will," she assures him. "In the house. Right now. You have ten second and I'm dragging you in there. Do not make me do it, Zayn." When he still doesn't move, she starts counting. "Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven—,"

He turns on the spot and starts towards the house.

There's this room in their basement. He had no idea it was even there. There's a panel on the wall that locks the basement from the inside out, and apparently if you hit a certain code, a door opens on the left wall. That's where they bring Liam. Into that room, where there's nothing but a small bench and a pair of thick metal shackles against the wall.

Zayn flips out. Niall's there, grabbing his arms and dragging him up the stairs. "Just let him go!" is ripped from his throat before he can stop it, and he follows it quickly by, "He wouldn't hurt anyone!" It sounds weak and ridiculous to his own ears, and he's pretty sure his parents feel the same way.

"Just calm down," Niall orders, still tugging him up the stairs. He doesn't stop until they're in Zayn's room. "Flipping out isn't going to help him."

Niall is sitting in front of his door, blocking the only reasonable exit. Sure, there's the window, but he doubts he'd land that jump as unscathed as Liam does.

"Do you think he did it?" Zayn ask, point blank. He raises his eyebrows when Niall doesn't answer fast enough.

"I don't know," Niall admits. "I don't think he'd do it on purpose. It's just— sometimes they don't mean to, you know? It could have been an accident."

How insane is it that a part of him wants to argue with Niall about that? That he wants to yell at Niall for even considering that Liam is capable of that? He knew something like this would happen, didn't he? It was just a matter of time, really, before his parents found out. Before that precarious control Liam had slipped and he hurt someone. Fuck, Zayn told him it would happen, too. He just didn't predict that it would happen like this.

" _Shit_ ," he hisses to himself. He tugs at his hair, paces around the room, completely forgets that Niall's there. He hears the beeping of a phone and turns to find Niall pressing the numbers on his own. "Who are you calling?"

"Harry," Niall say before bringing the phone to his ear.

"Why?"

Niall makes a face at him. "In case you haven't noticed, your parents sort of have your werewolf boyfriend shackled and locked in your basement. We need back-up."

At this point, Zayn's fairly certain that adding more people into the equation isn't going to help. If Harry shows up, what's he really going to do? Nothing. There's nothing he can do, nothing Niall can do, and nothing Zayn can do except try to reason with his parents, but he really doubts that'll help.

In the distance, another wolf howls. He'd forgotten about them, too caught up in worrying about Liam.

"We're so fucked," Zayn says, an air of finality to his words. He sinks down onto his bed and puts his head in his hands as someone catapults through the window.

"Sit at home they said. We don't need your help they said." Louis rolls his eyes and glares at him and Niall. "You're all sorely wrong if you honestly think that you could handle any of this without me."

"What are you doing here?" Niall asks. He's dialling Harry's number again, apparently not getting through.

"Well, Liam texted me and told me to meet him at Niall's about five minutes ago," Louis begins. He sits next to Zayn on the bed and slings an arm over his shoulder that Zayn only allows to stay there because he's too numb to move. "I thought that I'd stop by here first to see what's going on, which wasn't easy by the way. They have the house surrounded, and I had to sneak around, but that's not important. What's important is the fact that Liam's tied up in the basement, which means he wasn't the one who sent that text."

"Harry's not answering," Niall says before Zayn can fully process those words.

Louis frowns, concern etching lines into his face. His cellphone is pulled out, and a moment later that worried look changes to a smug on. "Hey, Harry," he says. "Niall's pulling his hair out worry about you, just so you know."

Zayn can hear Harry's quiet, snapped, "What do you want?"

"Where are you?" Louis asks. "Are you driving? You realize that's illegal, right?" A pause. "Liam texted you. You're— no, he didn't. He's— no, he's locked up in— yeah, Zayn's parents—," Even from here, Zayn can hear something happening on the other end of the line. "Harry? Harry!"

Louis stands up abruptly and presses the buttons on his phone so hard that the sound of cracking plastic fills the room. "Come on," he mutters. "Answer, you curly haired shit. Come  _on_." There's no answer. He looks up at Niall and Zayn. "Something happened. He was on the way to your house, Niall. He was just down the street and something happened to him."

"Just shut up for a second!" Zayn shouts.

Silence falls in the room. Both Niall and Louis gape at him as if he's lost his mind, which may very well be the case.

"Okay," he says, thinking out loud. "Liam's in the basement. He's been out for at least fifteen minutes, I'd say. Which means you're right, Louis. He didn't send that text. Someone else did. Someone else has his phone, and they texted you telling you to go to Niall's. The same person texted Harry and said the same thing, and now something's happened to him. And— and that's where my sisters are."

The silence continues for a long time until, very softly, Niall says, "Fuck."

Niall beats him to the door, because he's closest, but Zayn's the first one down the stairs. Louis isn't behind them, but he's pretty sure that's because Louis took the window. Smart move, too, because his mother is in the kitchen, pacing with a gun in her hand. She starts moving towards them when she realizes he and Niall are heading for the door, but they get there before she can stop them.

"Zayn!" she shouts when they start jogging towards the car. "Zayn, don't you dare—!"

Whatever she was yelling is drowned out when he slams his car door behind himself. He shoves the keys in the ignition even though his hands are shaking, and he pulls out of the driveway before she can reach the car. In the rear-view mirror, he can see her standing there, right where his car had been seconds ago, but the look on her face isn't one of anger. She looks scared.

"Where's Louis?" Niall asks, turning to look in the back seat. "I thought he'd be waiting in the car."

They don't really have time to worry about that. "I'm sure he'll meet us there."

Driving feels so pointless. The minutes tick by on the clock on the dashboard, and he can't stop looking at it. Twice he nearly drives into the car in front of him that's going too slowly. He feels so worthless just driving. Not doing anything.

"Why my house?" Niall asks him. Zayn's eyes only move to him for a second, and his face is scrunched up in thought.

"Maybe it's because my sisters are there," Zayn answers.

And how stupid is that? How stupid was it to leave them there, alone? Sure, Waliyha's got a gun, and she's not exactly defenceless, but it's just the two of them. His parents thought they'd be safer there, away from the thick of the fight, but now Zayn thinks it was the stupidest thing they could have done. If he could write a book on what  _not_  to do in situations like this, rule number one would be splitting up.

They see Harry's truck as soon as they pull onto Niall's street. The hood is propped open, and the door on the driver's side is open. "Always knew that thing would break down," Niall says as they drive up to it.

"But where's Harry?" Zayn asks. He looks around, like he's expecting Harry to pop out of nowhere. Obviously he doesn't.

The claw marks are on the other side of the car. He finds them when he gets out for a second, just to see if he can find any clues as to where Harry went. There's lines in the grass of the nearest lawn, too, like someone had been dragged backwards but they'd dug their heels in resistance.

"Right," Zayn says after he's popped the trunk on his car. He moves around to the back and pulls out his crossbow, along with a switch blade and a sheath of arrows. "We need to formulate a plan."

"We're about to go into a battle," Niall says while reaching for the assault riffle he's got in the trunk, "and you're using words like formulate."

"Fuck off," Zayn mutters.

Niall grins at him because he's Niall and, even in situations like this, he's somehow still sunny. Zayn surveys the area while Niall loads the gun and checks to make sure everything's working accordingly. It's a nice neighbourhood. Maybe not as nice at the one Harry and Louis live in, though. All the lights are off in the houses, only the streetlamps left to illuminate everything. How someone didn't wake up when Harry was being fucking  _abducted_  is beyond him.

"What if we're wrong?" Niall asks as he closes the trunk. "What if no one's here?"

Zayn shrugs. "Better safe than sorry, right?"

It takes all of about, oh, thirty seconds for Zayn to realize that whatever training Niall's done with his uncle was not extensive. He can aim the gun just fine, seems to know all the mechanics of it, but he's loud. He seems to step on every branch, and they've barely moved before his breath is coming out in loud pants.

Zayn glares at him over his shoulder and Niall waves a hand. "Sorry," he says breathlessly. "'m a lazy bastard. I don't do this shit."

Ignoring him, Zayn cuts through the nearest backyard. They hop the fence, Niall nearly ripping his trousers as they go. Once they're outback of Niall's house, they stop. "Should we just walk in?" Zayn asks, looking up at the darkened house. There's not a light on inside that he can see, which has him worried. His sisters are inside, and he knows what they're like. They'd still be awake and waiting for their parents to come get them, which means the lights should still be on.

"Don't ask me," Niall says. "You're the expert."

Zayn lets out a huff of air and raises his crossbow as he makes his way across the lawn. They're almost at the door when someone covers his mouth and tugs him backwards.

"Don't fight me, you idiot," Louis hisses in his ear. Zayn stops struggling. "They're in the basement. The whole house reeks of werewolf. I don't know how we didn't realize it before." He turns to Niall. "I'm sorry to say this, Niall, but I think your uncle—,"

Whatever he think of Niall's uncle, they don't find out. Something bangs loudly in the house, and Zayn doesn't need super-hearing to pick up Harry's shout, or the fact that it cuts off abruptly. Not like he stopped, either. Like someone stopped it for him.

Louis is the first to move. He releases Zayn and rushes the house, leaving Niall and Zayn to stand there, dumbfounded, until they run after him. He's pretty sure the back door is locked, but Louis twists the handle until it comes off in his hand, and then he pulls it open easily.

"Who needs a key when you've werewolf strength?" Niall whispers.

"Really?" Zayn asks. "Is this really the time for witty commentary?"

"Sorry."

Just like in Zayn's house, there's a keypad beside the basement door. Louis tries to pull it open anyways, attempts to break the handle off like he had the back, but it doesn't work.

"I know the pass code," Niall says. He chews his lip for a moment, looking uncertain. "It's just— I'm not allowed down here, and if we're wrong and Clark finds out, he'd—,"

Louis grabs Niall roughly by the front of his shirt and presses him against the wall. His eyes are an electric blue, glowing in the lowlight of the hallway. "You are my best friend," Louis growls, and Zayn levels his crossbow at Louis' ass, just in case he can't control himself, "but if you don't unlock that door, I will rip off your arm and beat you with it. Am I making myself clear?"

Niall nods furiously until Louis releases him. He presses a few buttons on the keypad, and a second later there's a soft  _click_  and the doorknob turns easily in his hand. Louis shoves past him and jumps down the flight of stairs, landing easily on his feet.

The first thing he sees is Safaa. For a moment it's like she's the only thing in the room. Her head is ducked, her thick, dark hair falling into her face. She's sat on a wooden chair, her tiny arms tied behind her back, her ankles secured to the legs of it. She doesn't look hurt, though. There's no bruises or gashes on her skin. In fact, if it weren't for the position, she looks as peaceful as she always does when she's asleep.

He blinks and the rest of the room seems to come into focus. It's very similar to their basement in the sense that there's only one small, barred window, and there's maps and weapons hung up on the wall. He doesn't even try to make sense of them. He's too busy taking in the rest of it.

Waliyha's beside Safaa, but she's fully awake. There's duct tape covering her mouth, and there's dried blood leading from the cut on her forehead, down her cheek. Harry's on Safaa's left. Just like her, his head is ducked, hair falling into his face. He's tied up less securely than his sisters. His arms are behind his back, but his legs are free. There' a gash in one of them, pant leg torn and stained with blood.

"Just about on time, wouldn't you say?"

Zayn's head whips around, and he focuses on the man in the corner of the room. He's tall, like Harry, but muscular. His clothes are more than a little tattered, his shirt torn and half his pant leg missing, like he's gotten in a fight with something recently. He meets Zayn's eyes and smiles, all sharp teeth.

"About, yeah," someone says from the other side of the room.

Louis, not far from him, bristles and bares his own teeth. It's about then that Zayn realizes there's three of them in the room. He recognizes the one, the second one who spoke, from Halloween. Even when his face isn't contorted with the change, there's something distinctly animalistic about him.

"Oh, look," one of them says. "The little blonde one thinks he's going to shoot us."

It happens so fast he almost can't process it. One of them moves barely a fraction of an inch, and Louis leaps at him. Another one rushes Niall and swats the gun from his hand, and Zayn hears him cry out, the sound of bone snapping echoing in the room.

The one closest to him is still grinning, and it takes a slow, predatory step towards Zayn. His hands shake and the arrow misses it's mark. He was aiming for the throat, but instead he got the shoulder. It's a rookie mistake, one he hasn't made in a long time. He never misses his mark. Still, it's affective. The thing howls in pain, eyes flashing yellow, and it wraps it's hand around the arrow and, with a grimace on it's face, rips it out. The action gives Zayn just enough time to step back, keeping Niall behind him, and load another arrow. This one goes in his calf, and the sound of his body smacking painfully against the cement floor when he falls overpowers everything else for a second.

One down, two to—

His arm is yanked behind his back and twisted painfully. He bites his tongue to hold back the cry of pain, but a whine escapes him anyways. Another hand circles his other wrist, and sharp, pointed nails dig into his palm until he hisses and lets go of his crossbow. It clatters against the ground, the arrow he had loaded and ready to go rolling a few inches away.

"Well that was painfully easy," one of them remarks.

Zayn struggles against the one holding him. He tries squirming, tries kicking, tries bashing the back of his head against it's face. Nothing works.

"What do we do with them now?" the one holding him asks. "What did Clark say?"

"The hunter lives," another one grunts. "We not supposed to touch him. The other two—,"

"We wait until Clark gets here," the bigger one, the one with the muscles that has now ripped the arrow out of hi legs, instructs.

They all mumble their agreement. There's a lot of shuffling, Louis letting out an impressive stream of curses, and they're all tied down. He and Niall are tied to a chair, while Louis is handcuffed to the bars on the window.

Zayn watches as one of the werewolves pulls a phone out. "Yeah, we got 'em," he says. "All it took was luring the curly haired one and the bitchy little shit here. Yeah, got them all tied down. We're waiting on your orders. Okay. Yep. Alright."

"What'd he say?"

"Said not to touch the hunter's kids, or Niall. He's not sure if he wants to kill the freak or bite 'im. Could be an asset, given everything he knows." He moves behind Harry and yanks on his curls until he lifts his head. His right eyes is swollen closed, but the other is narrowed. He turns his head a bit, fighting against the hand fisted tightly in his hair, and spits on the one holding him. The werewolf only laughs and wipes the spit from his face "Do it myself, if I could. Maybe he'd even enjoy it."

"Bite him and you'll see what your intestines look like hanging out of your body," Louis says sweetly.

Despite the calm tone of voice, there's blood dripping down Louis' forearms from him yanking on the cuffs, trying to get them loose. There's a panicked look on his face, too.

Unlike Louis, Zayn isn't fighting. He's not stupid. He might be missing some important pieces of information, but he's put enough together to know what's going on.

Clark is the alpha. It's the only thing that makes sense. And, for some reason, he's lured them here to— kill them? No, that can't be it. If that's what he wanted, he would have done it already. Still, there's this gut twisting certainty in him that says he's not getting out of this. That no matter how hard he pulls on the ropes tying his hands together, he's going to die here. With his sisters beside him.

The door at the top of the stairs opens as the one holding Harry drags his nail down Harry's cheek, leaving a deep cut in its wake. Louis' shrieking now, indiscernible words muffled by rage.

"Isn't this lovely?" Clark asks.

He's got Zayn's mother by the throat, and he drags her into the room. She's not fighting him, though. She's almost limp in his grip, going everywhere he guides her. She meets Zayn's eyes for just a moment, and there's heartbreak in them. That, more than the feeling in his gut, tells him just how fucked they are.

"Do you remember," Clark says as he releases her, shoving her a bit away from him. She wraps her arms around her stomach and takes a step towards Zayn, as if to help him, but all that does is earn her a sharp slap across the cheek. "Now, now, Tricia. Do be polite. I'm trying to tell a story."

There's snickers from the others in the room, and someone's silenced Louis' shouting.

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted," Clark begins again, "Do you remember the full moon after Angie was bit while she was out hunting with you?"

"If you hurt them—," his mother says, but Clark slaps her again before she can finish. She cups a hand to her cheek, blood tricking from her mouth.

"Apparently you don't," he snaps. "So I'll refresh your memory." He crosses the room and stands behind Zayn for a moment, but then he shifts and moves towards Safaa instead. "Should we start with the youngest, then? Will you put a bullet in her skull like you did with Angie?"

"Why are you doing this?" Zayn asks. He sounds broken and hopeless, and he hates that. Wishes he could sound angry and dangerous, but he can't.

Clark is behind him in the blink of an eye. Like with Harry, he yanks on Zayn's hair until his throat is bared. His skull burns, and he knows he'll have a bald spot there when Clark releases him.

"Because your parents took the only thing I had from me!" Clark shouts in his ear. "Because your bitch of a mother got my wife bit, and then she killed her!"

"She attacked us!" his mother screams right back. "She was  _dangerous_! We had no choice!"

Instead of getting angrier, Clark laughs. "You say that when it's not someone you care about," he says. "When it's not someone you love. But will you keep up that argument when it's your son turning into a beast? When it's one of your own?"

"I—,"

"You won't get a choice," Clark spits before she can answer. "Not with that, at least. But I will give you one option, darling. Pick one of them. I don't care which. The boy, the youngest girl, the other one. We're not leaving here until you do."

"What are you going to do to them?" his mother whispers.

"I'm going to bite them, and then you're going to kill them. I'm not completely heartless, though. An eye for an eye and all that. I'll let the other two live, but only if you do as I say. If not, I'll have my pack rip all of their throat out while you watch."

Beside him, Waliyha's sobbing, her shoulders shaking. Tears are streaming down her face, and Zayn wants to comfort her. Wants to put a hand on her shoulder and tell her it'll be fine, but he can't and it won't.

"Bite me," he says instead. He tilts his head to the side, barring his throat. "Do it."

"Oh, we have a martyr," Clark says, sounding delighted. "How noble. Almost like my Liam."

"He's not your anything," Zayn says before he can stop himself.

"Right, I forgot," Clark chuckles. "Do you know, boy, what your parents were planning to do with your little boyfriend? Are you aware that they were considering killing him?" Zayn's mouth snaps closed. "Exactly. Now how do you think it would feel if you had to watch that? If you had to watch them take him away from you? Wouldn't it make you want revenge?"

"Zayn," his mother tries, but he ducks his head and closes his eyes.

What's he supposed to say to that? He knows how his parents were raised, both by hunting families. He knows that, their whole lives, they've been taught to kill werewolves. But he also knows that Clark is right. If they ever touched Liam—

He doesn't think about it. There's no point. What's done is done, and what's going to happen is going to happen. There's no use getting upset over something he has no control over, and he's definitely not going to spend the last however many minutes of his life being upset with his parents.

"So who will it be?" Clark asks. "Make your choice, Tricia, or I'll make it for you, like I said."

His mother swallows, looks between the three of them, and says, "Just kill me instead."

"That wasn't an option. Pick one. You have to the count of ten, and Joseph here starts by killing dear Safaa." Just like his mother had done to him outside, he starts counting down. "Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Do you really want them all to die? Six. Five. Four. You could save two of them, just make the call. Three. Two. One—,"

"Zayn," she gasps.

He won't even fault her for it. He'd of done the exact same thing.

A warm hand caresses his neck, and before long he can feel hot, rancid breath on his skin.

An arrow flies so close to his face that he flinches. It misses him only by an inch or so, and he feels the hot spray of blood spattering his cheek and exposed neck. Clark lets out a garbled sound through the arrow in his throat and collapses.

His mother drops the crossbow and swiftly reaches down to pull a small knife from where she'd had it stashed in her boot. "Come on," she shouts as the other werewolves start towards her. "Come on!"

Footsteps sound overhead as one of Clark's pack members rushes her. His mother goes down in seconds, but he can't tell if she's okay. Can't watch because it's too much, and the way he's struggling to get air into his lungs is making him lightheaded, and he can't focus anyways.

Someone's shouting. No, more than one. Maybe everyone is, actually, himself included. All he knows it that a pair of brown eyes are swimming in his vision, and Liam's saying, "I'll be right back." The ropes trying his hands together fall away, cut in one easy swipe.

He watches, dazed, as Liam somehow avoids the other fights. He sees his mother get up, knife now covered in blood but still securely in her hands. And Doniya's there, too, right next to her, all sharp claws and swift movements. He gets up, limbs feeling stiff and wrong, even though he wasn't sitting for more than fifteen minutes. He bends behind Waliyha and his fingers fumble with the rope. He can't seem to get them to work right, but somehow he gets it untied anyways and he moves on to Niall. Liam's busy carrying Safaa from the room.

There's blood everywhere. He can't tell who it all belongs to, can't tell who's winning. In the back of his mind, he wonders where his father is. Wonders if he's okay. Wonders if he's dead. He can't think about that, though. All he can think about is getting his hands on his bow and helping.

His fingers curl around his crossbow as one of them breaks off from a fight with an unknown werewolf. He thinks that maybe she's part of Doniya's pack, but it's not like they've introducing themselves. He's not coming for Zayn, though. He's going for Liam, who's busy trying to get Waliyha up the stairs.

It's not even a conscious thought. He loads the arrow, takes a calming breath, and lets it go as the arrow soars through the air and, finally, he hits his mark. The werewolf only has time to claw at the arrow protruding from its throat before it falls, the light going out of his eyes almost immediately.

He fires off another shot without stopping. This time the arrow gets a leg, the next time a shoulder. It's hard to keep track of who he's shooting, though. He doesn't want to somehow hit someone on their side.

He thinks they're winning. That's what it looks like, at least. Until a pair of red eyes catches his attention.

It's like watching someone rise from their grave. There's no way Clark should have been able to get up after that. The arrow is still lodged in his throat, and there's blood everywhere. It matches the colour in his eyes almost, though maybe it's a little darker.

He grabs the girl werewolf that had come with Doniya and, a second later, he drops her limp body to the floor, his fingers dripping with blood from where he'd ripped her heart out of her chest. Zayn throws up, all over the floor in front of him, bending over with his hands braced on his knees.

Someone yanks him back up a moment later. "You made your choice," Clark says. His voice is hoarse but somehow still audible, and almost everyone in the room turns to look at them. His mother freezes, the blade in her hand slipping from her fingers, "and you will watch him die."

The hand that had pulled him up releases the back of his shirt and instead wraps around his throat. A pin could drop in that room and everyone would hear it, because all fighting has suddenly stopped.

His breathing is cut off instantly as the pressure against his throat increases. Zayn struggles to claw at the hand choking him, and his nails rip through flesh. He feels it, feels blood coating his fingers, but the hand doesn't release him. Instead it gets tighter, and he can't breath. He's trying, he's trying so hard, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as darkness creeps into his vision.

The last thing he sees before he dies is Liam rushing towards them. Even then, he thinks Liam is sort of gorgeous. Sure, he's got no eyebrows, which is distantly hilarious, and he'd laugh about it he could but, you know, he sort of can't because of the whole dying thing. The gold eyes suit him, though. They're still kind and soft, even if he prefers the brown. And though his lips are hiding sharp teeth that could bite through metal if he wanted, they're still pink and lovely and Zayn wants to feel them on his skin, wants to—

 

* * *

 

**Liam**

When he was five, his grandmother passed away. He remembers seeing her in the hospital, visiting her every day as she seemed to age in front of his eyes. She wasn't all that old, his grandmother. She wasn't what one would normally think of when you think of a grandparents. She had really long hair, and the grey was still streaked with blonde. Her face wasn't a mask of wrinkles, either. Just around her mouth when she laughed, or her forehead when she frowned. It wasn't until she got really sick that she started to look like the frail old thing like other old people.

It was peaceful, everyone said. She'd been in a lot of pain, but it was peaceful when she finally went. He believed that because his mum is a doctor and she knows these things, and he trusts her. And, from that moment on, he sort of looked at death as this peaceful thing that happened. Like— you went to sleep one day when you were really old or really sick, and you just didn't wake up. No pain. Just drifting away.

Of course, he knows that's not true now. He's old enough that he's learned that death comes anyway it wants, and sometimes people go out with a sigh, while others go out with a scream. Still, that was the only time he was ever faced with death in a way that personally affected him, until this point.

Clark dies with a scream. Maybe not technically, but it's not a peaceful death, either.

Zayn goes limp in Clark's arms, and Liam snaps. He's not Liam anymore, not where it counts. He's not thinking, he's just doing. Just moving across the room. Just shoving Zayn's unconscious body away. Just digging his nails into skin that shreds like silk under sharp points of his claws. Blood spurts over his fingers, coating them, dripping between them. The only part of it that could be considered peaceful is the way the dark blue of his eyes takes over the red, like the darkening night sky chasing away the last remnants of the setting sun.

Something shifts, then. A change in power. There's a thrumming inside of him, different from the usual one. He can't quite describe it, but if the closest he can get is  _powerful_. He feels  _strong_. Stronger than he's ever felt. And he feels like he's in control.

Without consciously deciding to do so, he lifts a hand and his voice fills the room. " _Stop_."

It doesn't work on everyone. Zayn's mother is still moving, as is Niall. Harry, who's back into a corner with Louis in front of him (protecting him, Liam thinks), is still trying to make Louis move. The rest of them are frozen. Several pairs of eyes meet his, ranging from gold to Louis' luminescent blue.

Just like the thrumming, he can feel this too. The submission. It's not just himself that he's in control of.

Zayn's mother takes advantage of the moment by plunging her knife into the throat of the nearest 'wolf, up to the hilt. The other ones, the ones bitten by Clark, seem to shrink and huddle in on themselves, and one even lets out a pitiful whine.

He hears Louis' surprised sound, followed by a gasp of, "What's going on?"

Niall answers him. "He killed Clark," he says in an emotionless voice. "He's the alpha now."

 

—

 

There's not much else that he remembers clearly from that night. Most of it was a blur of moving bodies and blood, but one thing that still remains clear is watching Zayn's chest rise weakly and fall again as a small breath of air is let into his lungs. The relief at that, too, and then sitting in the back of Zayn's car as Niall drove them to the hospital.

The death count of that night is six. There's one werewolf from Clark's pack that was killed out in the forest by Zayn's father, as well as the other three, Clark himself, and the girl from Doniya's pack. Or— her  _old_  pack, he reminds himself, though it's still hard to think of that way because it's still hard to think of himself as someone who has a pack. As someone who  _leads_  a pack.

And maybe later, when the world settles once again, he'll have a good breakdown about that. About the fact that he killed someone. That he'd done just what he'd been afraid he'd one day do, and snapped and took someone's life. Right now, he's too busy worrying to do so.

"They said he's fine," Niall tells him once again.

"I'll believe that when they let me in to see him," Liam replies, as he has the other six times Niall's said that.

He's tried breaking in through the window, but Zayn's hospital room is on the fifth floor, a feat that even he can't manage. There's a nurse constantly in the hallway, too, and he's already been kicked out twice for trying to get in. But his parents are allowed in, and he doesn't think that's fair.

Liam tugs at the shirt he's wearing. It's Niall's, and it's too tight around the shoulders. He hasn't been home to change, though, and he couldn't keep walking around in his bloody clothes. People started asking questions, and he sort of can't answer them. Zayn's parents have fielded them for the most part, came up with this big elaborate story that Liam still doesn't fully understand, and he has no idea how anyone else bought it because there's so many loopholes in it. Then again, as Harry has said, people believe what they want to believe.

He hears a set of footsteps coming towards them, and he lets out a loud groan. He's been waiting for this, though, and he's surprised that it'd taken six hours for her to get here, even if he's sort of been praying that maybe she wouldn't come.

"Come on," is this first thing out of his mother's mouth, which surprises him. Liam blinks up at her, waiting for her to slap him or shout at him until she's blue in the face. Instead she grabs his arm and tugs him out of his seat.

"Mum—,"

"Later," she says. "You can tell me later. I know you won't talk until you're allowed in to see him, so come on. I won't let anyone stop us."

He looks to Niall, as if he could give some sort of explanation. All he gets is a shrug and an expression that's as lost as he feels.

She drags him down the hall, away from the visitors section, and then she pushes open the door to Zayn's room and he finally gets it.

"You have five minutes," she says. "And then we're going home and you're not leaving your room until you're thirty."

The door closes between them, shutting with a soft click. He stares at it for a long moment, at a loss for words. A strangled cough behind him has him turning, and he faces the hospital bed.

Zayn looks small under the thick, scratchy looking comforter. His pillows are piled high, and he's half leaning up on them, half lying down. There's purple and red marks around his neck, not at all like the ones Liam's left behind a few times. No, these are different. He can pinpoint where each finger and fingertip had been, and that angry feeling crawls up inside him. He nearly puts his fist through the wall, just to calm it, but instead he takes a shuddering breath an a hesitant step forward.

"Not— supposed to talk," Zayn says. His voice is hoarse and weak, and he glares down at his hands while the words come out, as if he's upset at himself for not healing faster.

"Can I sit?" Liam asks, gesturing to the armchair beside the bed.

Zayn's shoulders rise and fall carelessly, and he falls farther against the pillows, leaning more heavily on them. He tilts his head to the side, rolling it so he can look at Liam without moving much. His eyes are red rimmed, his lips are chewed to shit, and he looks pale.

"I'd ask you how you're feeling, but obviously…" Liam trails off, letting the words hang between them for a few minutes. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Zayn croaks out.

"I thought you weren't supposed to talk," Liam reminds him. "You should just nod and accept the apology."

"But you— didn't do anything," Zayn argues.

"Exactly. I didn't do anything, and you got hurt. So I'm sorry." And he is, more than anything. It's been tearing him apart for the last six hours as he waited in the visitors room, sitting in an uncomfortable chair while the person sat next to him changed from Niall to Louis to Harry and finally back to Niall, like they've each been taking shifts, never leaving him alone for more than five minutes at a time. "And I hate that I'm sitting here completely fine, not a fucking scratch one me, and you're seriously hurt."

Zayn rolls his eyes and silently reaches for Liam's arm. He drags his nails down it until small red lines are left behind, and then he raises his eyebrows and smirks, as if to say  _so there_. Liam takes advantage of the movement to grab Zayn's hand tightly in both of his own. His thumb brushes the back of Zayn hand, just over the tiny tattoo there.

"My mum's gonna drag me out of here in a minute," Liam murmurs. "I'll probably be grounded until the day I die, too, so I'm not sure when I'll be able to come visit you, but I'll be here as soon and as often as I can, okay?"

"I'll be home— by the end— of the week," Zayn coughs out. "My window— will be— opened."

"Li _am_." His mother's voice is faint on the other side of the door, but there's no way he can pretend he didn't hear it.

"I'll be here sooner," he promises. "Tomorrow. I don't care, okay?"

Zayn shakes his head fiercely. "My parents—,"

"I'll be fine," Liam promises. "You worry about you, and I'll worry about both of us."

He stands up, swoops to press a soft kiss to Zayn's temple (nowhere else, because he might end up attacking Zayn's body with his lips just to assure himself that he really is totally okay — though not  _fine_  or  _good_ , just okay and not dying— and he's fairly sure that Zayn can't handle that right now, in this state), and then he's out the door, not looking back because, if he does, he won't be able to leave.

When he's in the hallway, his mother frowns at him. "How is he?"

Liam shrugs. "He'll be okay, but…"

Her chin lifts a bit. "How does it feel to be the one worrying for once? It's not nice, is it?"

"I worry all the time," Liam says in a small voice. "About everyone. And it's hard."

His mother puts a thin arm over his shoulder. "You need a shower," she says. "And something to eat, and sleep. You can come back tomorrow, but not until you've got a bit more colour in those cheeks, okay?"

Liam lets out a surprised sound. "Seriously?"

She nods. "I'll ground you later. Right now I'm still worrying about you."

"I'm sorry," Liam repeats yet again. It's lame, considering what he's done to her lately. He can only imagine how she must have felt when one of her coworkers called her tonight and told him he was there. She must have been so afraid for him, and he hates that he did that to her.

"It's your job to make my life hell. You're my teenage son. You're not supposed to  _apologize_ , you're supposed be rebellious, tell me I'm unreasonable."

He just smiles at that and lets her lead him out of the hospital after he tells Niall he's leaving. He really loves his mother, not just because she's his mum. She's sort of great in every possible way.

 

—

 

At first he starts by just visiting Zayn once a day, since he doesn't want to overstay his welcome. That is, until Zayn looks at him on Monday with a pained look on his face and asks, "Can you come by later? My parents don't get here until six, and I'm stuck here with nothing but books I've already read a thousand times, and the worlds smallest television that only gets local cable channels."

So he does, before school on Tuesday and after school, too. Niall comes with him, as does Louis on Wednesday, and on Thursday Doniya shows up halfway through his visit.

"You know he's not supposed to be here," she says when she walks in, gesturing to Liam.

Zayn gives her a look that says he doesn't care. "And?"

Doniya shrugs and falls into Liam's lap. "I'm just saying," she says as she stretches out, throwing her legs over the armrest. Liam shifts a little, cheeks burning, but she's apparently oblivious to his discomfort. "I'm working on that, though. Liam's a sweetheart. They'll see reason."

"Can you not?" Zayn snaps at her.

"Not what?"

"Lay on my boyfriend."

She plants a sloppy, wet kiss on Liam's cheek before standing up. "Only because you're sick and I love you, but I'll lay on my alpha if I want to," she adds.

That, more than her previous post on his lap, has him tensing and sitting up straighter. He chances a look at Zayn, who's eyes are wide underneath his furrowed brow. He turns to Liam slowly, lips forming words that he doesn't say out loud.

"He didn't know," Doniya realizes. " _Shit_."

"Didn't know what?" Zayn demands. "Someone better fucking tell me right now."

Liam buries his face in his hands at the sharpness in Zayn's voice. Doniya, on the other hand, finds her voice, unlike him. "I'd give you an excuse for why I'm leaving, but I don't have one," she says. "I just don't like awkward situations. See you later, little brother."

The door closes softly (but to Liam is sounds like it slams) and leaves him alone with Zayn. Outside the closed window, he can hear cars drifting by on the road, and a handful of people smoking in the small section allotted just for that.

"What did she mean by that?" Zayn asks finally.

Liam looks up at him. He goes to run a hand through his hair, but instead it falls back into his lap halfway there. "Um. What part?"

Zayn's features twist in annoyance. "You know what part. The part where she called you— where she called you her  _alpha_."

"Oh. Erm. I think she meant exactly what she said," Liam admits.

"How—?"

"When I killed Clark." It's the first time he's said it out loud, but it doesn't make it any more real to him. Honestly, he spends most of his time making a point to not think about it, to not let it become a reality. He's not sure if he can handle it being one. "She, uh, wants to be closer to you and your family again, she said, and I don't know why that means she's in my pack, but she says she is, so."

Zayn nods. "Do your eyes get all— you know?"

Liam's eyelashes sweep down as he closes his eyes, and when he blinks them back open, he knows how they'll look, even if he hasn't seen it himself, first hand. He's been avoiding that, too.

Other than a small, reluctant gasp, Zayn doesn't react. "Huh," he says.

"Yeah."

"Whatever," Zayn decides. He collapses back against the bed and smirks up at the ceiling. "I guess it doesn't make much of a difference. My parents aren't going to want me to date you whether you're a beta or an alpha."

He's aware of this. On Tuesday he'd fallen asleep once he and Zayn were alone, and he woke up to Zayn's mother shrieking at the nurse until Liam was removed from the room. Doniya thinks they'll come around. Zayn is as optimistic as he is. Which is to say, not at all. Sadly that's out of his control, and Zayn's parents are going to hate him no matter what he does, even if they did thank him for getting Safaa and Waliyha out of the room that night, and for doing his best to help Zayn.

"Maybe I don't want to be an alpha," Liam grumbles, because that feels more like something he  _can_  control, even if he knows, deep down, that he can't.

Zayn sighs. "Everything's always going to be complicated for us, isn't it? We're never going to get a break."

"You never know," Liam tries feebly.

Zayn snorts bitterly. "We're moving again, you know. My parents told me last night. Just in time for me to start next semester at a new school. They're already looking at houses and everything. They say they want to start over somewhere that doesn't have bad memories like this place, but it's pretty obvious that they're really just trying to stop us from seeing each other. I heard them arguing about it."

If they could deal with everything else, they can deal with this. "Where?"

"Seven hours away."

Fuck. "We can still—,"

"Talk on the phone? Skype? Try even though it's pretty obvious that the entire universe seems to be against this?"

"The entire universe is probably an exaggeration," Liam says. "Most likely."

Zayn reluctantly chuckles and tries to scowl at him, but the look is too fond for it to be believable. "So now what?" he asks eventually. "What are we going to do?"

Liam shrugs. "I don't know, but I've recently gotten pretty good at figuring things out as I go along. We'll figure something out this time, too."

"Okay, Liam," Zayn says, resigned. "You figure something out."

"I will," Liam promises. He stands up, adjusting his clothes. "Your parents will be here soon, though, and I promised Niall I'd help him move the rest of his stuff into Louis'."

"How's that going, by the way? They kill each other yet?"

Liam's not all that sure. If he's being truthful, he hasn't really asked. He's been sort of busy between visiting Zayn and trying to show his mother that he's not an out of control delinquent who's been using drugs (her actual words at one point), and that's why he offered to help with the move today. He needs to stop neglecting the rest of his friends, even if he'd rather just lay down on the bed beside Zayn and sleep until their problems solved themselves.

"I'm going home tomorrow," Zayn says when Liam's almost out the door.

He turns, eyebrows raising. "Really?"

"Yeah. So, um, my window will be open tomorrow night. If you want to come over," he says quietly.

"I thought I was only staying over there to protect you," Liam teases. "Nothing to protect you against, now."

"Maybe I just want you there," Zayn admits. He looks up at Liam with wide eyes. "Is that okay?"

Liam gives in to what he's been fighting against for the past couple days. He crosses the room in two long strides and puts a hand under Zayn's chin. He doesn't have to tilt it up; Zayn's already pushing himself onto his hands and meeting Liam halfway, cupping the back of his neck before their lips touch.

Zayn licks at Liam's lips, trying to get access, but Liam shakes his head. "Tomorrow," he mutters against Zayn's mouth. "When we don't have to worry about nurses or your parents coming in."

"The fact that a werewolf is my voice of reason is just ridiculous," Zayn groans. "But fine, go on. And, uh, be safe or whatever, okay?"

Despite the fact that he knows there's nothing to worry about right now (except maybe Zayn's mum putting a wolfsbane bullet in him which, by the way, really fucking hurts), he nods. "You be safe, too," he responds.

So maybe they don't say I love you. Maybe it's because they're not at that stage yet, or maybe it's because this is just another thing about their whole relationship that is just  _not normal_. It's just… them, and he sort of likes it.

 

—

 

It becomes a routine, him staying at Zayn's. So much so that he can't remember the last time he spent the night in his own bed. Usually he leaves as soon as he can, but some nights he's stuck lying in bed until his mother goes to sleep, but Zayn is always waiting up for him with his window open, sometimes reading a book, sometimes just lying there.

And slowly the days pass until Zayn's sleeping in a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants, and Liam's sleeping in nothing but his boxers because it's  _hot_  in Zayn's room, even if there's snow covering the ground now and it's below freezing outside.

Mostly, all they really do is sleep. Some nights he wakes up laying half on top of Zayn, like he's unconsciously trying to protect him in his sleep. Other times he wakes up to Zayn jerking awake, panting and sweating and placing a heavy hand on Liam's chest, as if he's trying to keep Liam behind him because he thinks there's something there, though there never is. It's become nearly impossible for Liam to sleep without hearing Zayn's hitched breath (somehow never back to normal after that night).

"Full moon soon," Zayn comments on their last night. His room is nearly empty, his boxes piled by the door. There's not even a curtain covering the window anymore, and Liam can see the snow drifting in fat, wet flakes under the light of the moon (which is, in fact, nearly full) through it .

"I'll be fine," Liam says offhandedly. Weirdly enough, it feels true. He's just in better control of himself lately. In fact, he'd been with Doniya last full moon instead of locked in the basement at the vets. The night had went by without incident, and while he still struggles to remember exactly what happened, he remembers a lot of running and playfully tackling Louis to the ground and he'd woken up in Zayn's bed, a muddy mess that made Zayn tisk at him but smile fondly anyways.

"And safe," Zayn adds. "Be careful."

"I'll be safe, too," Liam promises. "But I'm going to miss you."

Zayn sighs and sinks onto the edge of the bed. It's three in the morning, or it was last time he'd checked. Down the hall, Zayn's parents and sisters are asleep. Liam feels too wired to go to bed, and apparently Zayn does as well. It's weirdly quiet with the snow to muffle all the sounds from outside, but it's also kind of peaceful.

"Time's running out, Li." Zayn's voice is almost as soft as the snow that falls outside. "You said you were going to figure something out, but there's no way."

Actually, there is. "I've already figured something out. I was just waiting to surprise you."

Zayn's eyebrows lift. Liam wants to chuckle and trace them because he has very expressive eyebrows, Zayn. "What? What's your plan?"

"You just have to wait," Liam teases. He reaches out, grabbing Zayn's hand, and tugs. "Come 'ere."

"You're really not going to tell me now?" Zayn asks once he's settled on top of Liam, barely bothering to hold himself up on his elbows because he knows Liam can handle his weight with ease.

Liam makes a considering face and runs his hands up and down Zayn's back. "I could be persuaded to."

"You know," Zayn says as he leans down, "Louis mentioned that you guys get horny near the full moon. I thought he was talking shit, but…"

"Louis talks a lot of shit," Liam mutters. "But I don't really want to talk about Louis."

"Neither do I," Zayn agrees. His lips hover just over Liam's, and there's a mischievous look in his eyes, one that he's accustomed to seeing by now.

Liam ties to lean up and close that last breath of space between them, but Zayn pulls up just a bit. "So what  _do_  you want?" Liam groans, falling back against the mattress.

Zayn bites at his earlobe. "I'd like you to fuck me, actually."

He has two settings, Zayn. Sometimes he's blushing and stammering like Liam, and other times he does that  _thing_  where he whispers boldly in Liam's ear and makes his brain short-circuit and his cock harden. And fuck, he would love to, he really would. He's pretty sure that Zayn has no idea just how badly Liam wants to grip Zayn's hips and lick at his salty skin and push into him until he's a writhing mess. Except—

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Liam says regretfully. Sure he's been in much better control lately, but Zayn sort of ruins all of that sometimes. Like when he wraps his lips around Liam and suddenly the bed sheets are in shreds. Or that time he's bit through the pillow. All it takes is him getting overwhelmed while he's trying to get Zayn ready, and he does not want to think about what would happen then.

Zayn has, though, apparently. "I thought about that," he says while pushing up Liam's shirt. "I want you, want you in me, but— you know, your claws sort of scare the hell out of me. But I figured a way around it, if you're game."

"Zayn—,"

"I trust you," Zayn pants. He grinds down against Liam, who's been hard since he felt Zayn's hot breath on his skin. "Do you trust me?"

"I love you," Liam says simply, unembarrassed, as if they've said it a hundred times. They haven't. That was the first time either of them said those three words, strung together like that.

Zayn grins and finally kisses him. "I—," his lips move to Liam's jaw, "—love—" he unbuttons his own jeans, "— you, too."

Liam gives in, for now, and he helps Zayn lose his shirt (or, he accidentally rips it off and Zayn pauses only long enough to laugh about that and assure him that he wasn't all that attached to the shirt anyways) before sitting up to get his own off. Zayn's giddy — there's no other word for it— as he tugs off his socks and then his boxers are gone, too. He gets off the rest of Liam's clothes before settling on top of him again, kissing him slow and purposefully, hips moving in a teasing circle in rhythm with his tongue.

He seems to lose whatever confidence boost he'd has soon enough, though, because Zayn pulls back and bites at his lip for a long moment, doing nothing more than looking down at Liam with an uncertain look on his face.

"We don't have to," Liam says. He squeezes Zayn's hips a bit. "Okay?"

Zayn shakes his head. "No, we do," he argues. He kisses Liam again. "Need to. Want to. Have to."

This time when he pulls back, he doesn't pause before he reaches under the bed. His elbow digs into Liam's ribs, but he pretends it doesn't because he doesn't want to make Zayn feel bed or embarrassed.

When he comes back up, there's a bottle of lube in Zayn's hand. It's brand new, and he slides off Liam's body before opening it. Before he pours any out, his lips finds the shell of Liam's ear and he says, "I need you to touch yourself." When Liam doesn't move, he adds, "Please."

Hesitantly, Liam wraps a hand around himself once Zayn's not touching him anymore. He watches Zayn move the pillow so they're set up behind him, and then he kicks away the comforter until there's nothing covering either of them. Liam almost goes to cover himself, feeling more than a little vulnerable, but Zayn shakes his head with a pleading look, so he doesn't. He just slowly strokes himself while wondering what Zayn's planning.

It doesn't take him long to find out. He's kind of just holding himself in a loose fist when Zayn looks down at the bottle of lube in concentration, and then he slicks up his fingers, tosses it aside, and shifts a little on the bed so he's more comfortable.

Zayn's eyes fall closed as he brings those slick fingers down, down, until he's circling a finger around his own hole. Liam might be gaping at him in shock or awe — he's really not sure which —, but Zayn doesn't notice. His face scrunches up into a look of determination, and he pushes one of those fingers in, letting out a soft breath. Liam has to tighten the hand around himself to stop from coming just from watching that.

When his eyes finally open, his pupils are blown wide, endlessly black with a ring of gold around them. Liam lets go of himself and inches forward, dragging a finger up Zayn's thigh as Zayn pushes another one into himself. He's biting his lip so hard it looks like it hurts, so Liam kisses him until Zayn's gasping into his mouth and squirming on the bed, opening himself up wider. If Liam wasn't already desperately in love with him, he thinks he would be just from watching this.

Zayn bites at Liam's lip now. A slightly cold, slick hand wraps around Liam's cock, and Zayn jerks him off for a moment until Liam's panting and struggling to keep the red out of his vision.

"I'm good," Zayn tells him. "Come on, Liam."

Liam nods mutely and settles himself between Zayn's legs, which go around his waist almost instantly. But instead of doing what he wants, doing what Zayn wants, he says, "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," Zayn says firmly.

And he knows that this isn't Zayn's first time. They've talked about it before (along with a few other things, like why using a condom isn't really necessary, and he'd made Zayn promise that he'd tell Liam if he ever accidentally hurts him) , and he knows there was someone else, before they met. And that makes him insanely jealous, it really does, but at the same time, he thinks that maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it's good that he won't be Zayn's first, because he's not sure how good this is going to be for him.

"Plus," he adds, mouthing against Liam's neck, "I like it a bit rough."

And fuck, how is he supposed to last long at all when Zayn says things like that?

Before he can lose it just from Zayn's words, he lines himself up with Zayn's entrance and, head ducked, eyes closed, one hand gripping the sheet tightly, he pushes in. Zayn's tight, so fucking tight, and it's overwhelming. How good he feels, how good he smells, how good he tastes when Liam licks at his collarbone. He lets out a guttural sound when he bottoms out, one that Zayn echoes with a drawn out, slightly pained moan.

Nails claw at his back, ones that are so sharp it's sort of surprising that  _he's_  the werewolf here, not Zayn. And then Zayn's swivelling his hips, digging the heels of his feet into Liam's back to get him to move. He does, with effort. It's hard not to give in and fuck into Zayn the way part of himself is begging him to.

He can feel Zayn's cock trapped between their bodies, rubbing against his abs every time he pushes back into Zayn. It's quiet in the room except for the sounds of their bodies moving together, Zayn's panting, and Liam's muffled moans that he only keeps in by sucking at Zayn's neck. That, and the sound of Zayn's bed, squeaking under their movement. At first, it was ignorable. Now, it's loud enough that Zayn swats at his back and says, "We need— to be— quieter."

Without thinking, Liam nods and easily gets both him and Zayn off the bed in one swift move without pulling out of him. Zayn's gasps turns into a keening whine when Liam grabs at his ass to hold him up, and he slides farther down Liam's dick, the new angle of their body pushing him in deeper than before.

He accidentally pushes Zayn against the wall a little hard, and a thump echoes through the room. Neither of them pay any mind to that, even though the whole point of getting off the bed was to be quiet. Liam's too busy gripping Zayn's waist tightly with one hand and his ass with the other as he pounds into him now, unable to help himself. Zayn's mouth is opening and closing in soundless little gasps and his eyes roll back as he slams his head against the wall.

Liam shifts them a bit, gets better leverage, and Zayn cries out, "There. There, there, there _,_  Liam, please."

Liam doesn't answer. He just focuses on hitting that spot again, and again, until Zayn's hands claw at his back again, and then at the wall behind him, and then he tugs at his own hair as if he can't control himself. Liam ducks his head into Zayn's neck and whispers mindless things that even he doesn't understand, but if he could he'd bet it was just a chant of 'beautiful' and 'I love you' and 'so good', which is sort of embarrassing.

He circles a hand around one of Zayn's wrists, pulling it away from where he's palming at Liam's ass now, and he puts it between their bodies, where Zayn's smearing precome between them. He gets what Liam's hinting at, apparently, because he wraps a hand around himself and brings the other to his mouth so he can bite down on his fingers as shameless, helpless moans slip from his lips.

Liam's been close since they started, and when Zayn comes, lips shaping Liam's name even though the word never truly comes out, he clenches around Liam and that's it, he's gone. It's all too much, and he tips over the edge as he comes, hips stilling after pushing into Zayn one more time. Zayn, who lets out another moan as Liam pulses inside him, which only seems to draw Liam's orgasm out even more until the world goes white for a moment and his body gets to hot and he forgets who he is, where he is, everything except  _Zayn_.

Trying to be as gentle as he can, once he's capable, Liam lifts Zayn off him and places him carefully on the ground. He wobbles, clutching at Liam's forearm, so Liam guides him to the bed. He leaves Zayn there to find something to clean them up, and Zayn doesn't fight him on it. He's still there when Liam comes back with a wet cloth, and he's still just lying there while Liam cleans away the come and sweat that's accumulated on their bodies.

"Was that, um, okay?" Liam asks once they're under the covers again, nothing but his boxers on an Zayn in just his sweatpants (though he'll start complaining about the cold soon enough, if Liam knows him at all).

"Not really," Zayn says. He grin when Liam winces in embarrassment. "It was fucking fantastic, Liam, honestly. If I would have known werewolf sex was that good, I would have stopped trying to hunt them years ago and—,"

"Let's not finish that sentence," Liam suggests.

"Yeah, okay."

Tonight it's Zayn who curls around him, an arm going around his waist, a leg thrown over his thighs. He doesn't fall asleep right away, he can't. Instead he leans his head back until Zayn obliges, lips finding his neck, and then he sighs in contentment.

In the morning, after Zayn's whispered both filthy and sweet things in his ears, and they've rolled over and turned and tosses for hours, after they've finally drifted to sleep, Liam wakes up to the sound of other people moving around in the house. He sighs, knowing he's got to leave, but Zayn always looks so peaceful when he sleeps. That's why Liam doesn't wake him before he leaves anymore.

He locates his clothes, and then pulls out the overnight bag he sometimes stashes under Zayn's bag. Today it doesn't have deodorant or toothpaste or a change of clothes. The places the small bundle on Zayn's side table, tops it off with the little sticky-note that reads ' _We'll figure it out_ ' and then he leaves the countless University applications (to the same schools he and Zayn have been talking about offhandedly for weeks, the ones that Liam's applying to as well) and slips out the window.

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

There's something to be said about being a werewolf. It sort of sucks sometimes (like the part where he's got to lie to his mum about half of his life, and the part where he sometimes turns into an  _actual_  wolf now— still weird to think about), but it's got its perks. Like being the only person in his dorm, apparently, who isn't struggling to carry heavy boxes up to his room. He piles them high, figures he can do the whole thing in one trip, if he wants to show off.

It's weird to be away from home. Away from his mum, and Harry and his parents, and Louis and even Doniya, who's become this permanent fixture in his life, staying behind even after her parents moved away. She claims it's because Liam needs her, but he knows, deep down, that it's because she still scares them sometimes, and they're afraid to have her near Safaa (who had pitched a fit the day of the move and thrown herself in Doniya's arms, refusing to leave). At least Niall's just down the hall in his own room. He's glad they both got into the same school, even if he is a little bitter that Harry and Louis both ended up going to a 'better' school a few hours away.

He doesn't bother knocking on the door to his room (number 24, near the middle of the hall, not at the end like Niall's), assuming that he's the first one to arrive. He's wrong, though. As soon as the door swings open, he's finds his roommate inside. He's busy stacking books on the shelf above his bed, and he'd stripped his shirt off, at one point.

Liam's eyes lock onto the tattoo on his shoulder blade. It's not very big, but it's elaborate. A beautifully drawn wolf with wide eyes that are coloured in with brown ink.

Moving forward, he runs his fingertips over it first, and then he replaces his fingers with his lips until Zayn chuckles and turns around.

"Thought you'd like it," he says. "Got it done a few weeks ago."

Liam grins and grabs Zayn roughly by the hips. He twists them as he falls, and they land with Liam on his back and Zayn on top of him. "Missed you," he mumbles, somehow finding time to say the words through the many, many kisses he pressing all over Zayn's skin. "And I do like it, by the way."

"I like you," Zayn counters.

"I hope so."

There door is half open from when Liam had shouldered it open, and people are walking by, a few looking inside with interest. Neither he nor Zayn really notice. Liam's too busy touching all of Zayn, and Zayn's busy pulling out a black marker. He tugs at Liam's arm until he flips it over, and then Zayn draws a simple bow on the inside of his wrist, and a ' _Z'_ on his palm.

"There," Zayn says, recapping the pen. "Mine."

Liam's not arguing with that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. IDK. I hope it wasn't too bad. D: -- Caitlin.


End file.
